I had a plan for today. I was going to go to the annual festival. The weather is supposed to be pretty much perfect, and I’ve been very good about resting lately. But I also had plans for yesterday, and those plans did not include a bad allergic reaction to the cat.
It wasn’t the worst reaction I’ve ever had; I wasn’t doing the, “Am I going to have to go to the hospital this time?” choice. It was just bad. There was sneezing, coughing, wheezing, congestion, sinus pain, a fever, exhaustion, and no sleep. My lungs are still iffy. The forest fire smoke is supposed to have cleared away by now, but I am still allergic to most of the outdoors, and to put myself in them for hours while suffering a significant allergy hangover seems really unwise.
If I didn’t have to go to work tomorrow, I would seriously consider doing it anyway. I haven’t been up to the festival in a couple of years. I was going to go in time to actually see all the things I’ve always wanted to see instead of being restricted by other people’s timetables and interests. It was going to be glorious. I had it all planned.
Maybe next year.
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