I forgot to tell you that in the previous entry’s poll, every “don’t do anything” vote cast was worth, like, a hundred times more than the other votes. So basically four hundred people begged me to spare the internet the agony of my daily musings this December. And a public outcry of that magnitude cannot in good conscience be ignored.
(My initial response was, “Wait, how did my cripplingly low self-esteem manage to vote? Four times, even?”)
My voice has been struck down by what I thought was another bout of bronchitis, but turned out to be strep throat, which is of course exactly the kind of thing one wants to have during the run of a show. I’m in the middle of a strict 24-hour period of vocal rest, but that sounds super-boring and non-productive, so I’m going to call it Heather’s Impromptu 24-Hour Total Mime Immersion Program instead. And then I’m going to put it as a special skill on my resume, ’cause that shit needs some padding.
I’ve ingested so much tea over the past week, I think I’m actually in danger of being thrown into a harbor by uppity colonials looking to make a political statement.
Speaking of aquatic tomfoolery, the shore excursions for my upcoming Caribbean Christmas have been chosen, and they include cave tubing, deep-sea fishing, and a thing where you get in a pool with a dolphin and it, like, pushes you. I don’t know about you folks, but if some dolphin pushes me? I am going to push it right back. And be all, “Cool it, dolphin! I am just trying to relax!” Then the dolphin will be like, “EEEEEEE! EEEE! EEEE! EEEEEEEE!” and I’ll punch it in the face, and we’ll get into this totally epic brawl pitting land-mammal against sea-mammal, and on it will rage — fist fighting fin — until the day of Ragnarök, and the poets a thousand years hence will still sing of The Great Surf-and-Turf Tussle of Twenty-Ten.
…I’m not going to be very good at international travel, is what I’m probably getting at here.