A treatise on allergies and the face of unspeakable horror.

I didn't have allergies until I moved to Utah. I swear. Now I wake up every morning drowning in snot. If it doesn't wake me up in the middle of the night instead. Like it did today.

Or maybe it was the appearance of Freddy Krueger in my dream that woke me up. Tough to say, really. I'm getting the willies just thinking about it, and I've never even seen the movies.

Have you ever thought about dying with dignity in the face of unspeakable horror? Nobly facing death. Proving that one can conquer this most banal fear. I thought that idea was going to get me back to sleep...but here I am. Blathering.

Well, in my dream my death was powerful. Silent and accusing. Granted, my dignified death also involved my killer wrapping my hands up in large slices of turkey meat before he handcuffed them together...and, as you might expect, it's difficult to take your death seriously in such circumstances.

Anyway, I'm not sure I could, when it came to an un-deli-fied death. It turns out I'm something of a coward. Back when I swam in shorts and a t-shirt instead of more feminine swim attire...you know, like a swimsuit...my little brother hopped on a tube and floated far out into Lake Superior. When my mom encouraged me to go after him by telling me I was a good swimmer I think I was probably excited at the idea of such heroism. Because even getting into water that averages 40 degrees constitutes heroism. So I started to wade...and I quickly realized that his life seemed much less valuable than it had from the beach. Goodbye John, I never loved you that much anyway.

So maybe it wasn't that much of an emergency in the first place--we ended up getting a friend to pick him up in his boat--but obviously my first instinct is not that of noble sacrifice.

In the face of unspeakable horror? I think I would just scream a lot...and wander around the house in the dark...in my underwear. Just like the movies.