And enter the ginger, stage door.
Blah, is it just me, or does September consistently, unfailingly and annoyingly feel like the longest month out of every year? Come the 1st of October, I always look at the calendar with a curious sensation of relief pouring in to flush out the accumulation of malaise and ennui. Hurgh, come on, 1st October. I’m waiting for you, baby and I need you so bad, uuunnnngh . . .
Also, happy Rosh Hashanah to my Jewish friends. I was going to link to an utterly gorgeous piece of music I heard on the classical station yesterday which was played with regard to the start of the holiday, but alas, alack, avast and poo, I have forgotten the name of it. Let it never be said that F. Lee does not, in fact, have a colander for a head.
And the specialathon continues . . . Just as my bruising is starting to heal, one of my lymph nodes decides to stick up its equivalent of two lymphy nodey fingers at me and swell quite painfully, making the entire side of my neck very sore indeed. Dear body . . . Let’s stop being ridiculous, shall we?
Lymph Node: “Imma make yo throat so’ and your nose blow and yo temp’racho’ go WHOOOOOA, WAY UP DERE, BRO . . .!”
SHUT UP. I am trying to drink my tea. And since when do I have an aspiring (bad) rapper for a lymph node? Oh, wait. Ridiculous. Right.