There were so many interesting responses to yesterday’s post — if you didn’t read them, and if you find the subject interesting, then you should check them out.

I woke up yesterday with an allergy attack that had gotten to my eyes. Actually, my eyelid. On one side. I looked as though I had had a stroke or something. Or been punched in the eye. The swelling and redness was terrible to behold. Or at least it seemed that way to me. Looking like Quasimodo, I went to the doctor. (NB, Pokey, I had an ailment and — I went to the doctor.) It was interesting to me that they asked questions like, “And what did you want to see the NP about today?” and “Have you noticed any redness?” I suppose even in a medical context you would not want to say “Ah, I suppose you are here about the hideous disfiguring swelling on your face” just in case the patient hadn’t noticed it.

In any case, they gave me a prescription for corticosteroids in massive quantities. After The Empress made a stirring speech on Modern Medical Science and Unecessary Suffering, I even went and had the prescription filled. The pharmacist offered me some light reading on nervousness, anxiety, mood swings, indigestion, increased appetite, insomnia, and other things I could anticipate, and told me to take 6 tablets right away.

I no longer feel hideously deformed. I hardly even notice itching and swelling. I did however feel drugged. I had trouble making sense when I spoke. I had to apologize to people and explain that I was taking medications. Tra la.

Now, having slept for a few hours, I feel lucid again. And yet I am sure that once I take today’s five tablets, I will again feel drugged. It will be like being one of those fairy tale characters who turns into a polar bear in the day time and goes back to being human at night. My normal morning will be affected by my knowledge that I will be a loopy creature by afternoon. Well, at least I am not nervous.

Choir practice is evolving, but slowly. I am shocked and saddened to tell you that the director gave in to the basses when they said they wanted to sing a C natural instead of the C sharp written in the music.

Being drugged, I protested. “Why is it a C sharp?” the bass soloist demanded. “So it will have that exciting dissonance to resolve,” said I, “It’s a rumba. You have to imagine yourself slinking around with maracas.” The gentlemen were not convinced, and the director caved. Oh, well. I confess that I would have a hard time imagining those guys slinking around with maracas, too. We are singing harder music than they have done in the past. I am excited about this, myself. As long as it stays fun for the original members.