I wrote this post several weeks ago. Then I promptly forgot to post it. So I’m doing it now, because not posting it seems like a super big waste of my time. So if you’re confused or bored…well I never promised brilliance and I’ll post something new tomorrow. (I promise. That’s it’s new, not brilliant.)
On Canada Day I went to the Burnaby Village Museum to show people swords and struggle to breathe (my asthma is still trying to kill me).
It was super fun (except the part where my lungs felt like they shrank three sizes in a reverse Grinch’s heart scenario).
I chose a steed (well really by virtue of the standing-politely-in-line-until-something-was-available system it chose me) and mounted (celebrating, when I achieved my seat, that I didn’t have to put up my hand and ask for help). Then, once we were all aloft, the music began and we went round and around at speeds that seemed much too fun to be considered safe by modern standards.
(Note to self, when your vocabulary starts to change because of a TV show, you’re too involved. Seriously, aloft?)
As we spun I let myself drift back in time. I was a lady on a gentleman’s fox hunt. I was one of the Banks children cantering through the countryside. I was a staff member at Downton Abbey taking my half-day at the fair. (See? Totally too involved.)
Then I went home and watched the rest of Downton Abbey. (I may have a problem.)
My body decided to give up having an immune system and review my childhood asthma experience. Yay. How is your body trying to kill you? Come on…everyone’s body is trying to kill them somehow.