This morning, I woke up with a hideous earache. Not the minor, slightly sore type, but rather the searing pain, hot poker in the eardrum sort. Don't get me wrong, I'm not without a high pain tolerance, but holy crap in a sombrero! This mother is on fire! I'm not sure what caused it, but maybe my neck is out of place. I was running to get the phone the other night and when I turned around, I hit my head. I have slanted ceilings upstairs, and I ran smack dab into one of them. I think somebody moved it when I wasn't looking. Either way, the pain is now clear down my neck. I've been thinking maybe I've got a bug in there, slowly burrowing toward my brain. My mother says that's not possible, because no bug would head toward deserted territory. What a way to build up self-esteem, that. Sick of my dramatics, my mother finally demanded that I try a nasal spray, thinking that if my head was clear, perhaps my ear wouldn't hurt. So I shoot the junk into my nasal cavity, and the party began. The crap smelled like that old Avon perfumes Roses, Roses. Yeah, well, I'm allergic to flowers. I now have a flower garden in my skull, and a thousand little beatniks jamming out between my ears. Frankly, it's not a good combination. It's like having that Bilbo Baggins group singing their cult tune in my brain. As far as I'm concerned, that's one step before a straitjacket.
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