Deep Blue Sky

I'll be just fine as soon as I get into that fresh mountain air, I thought to myself as I choked and coughed and gasped, trying to ease the burning pressure in my lungs.

My evening football game beside the open balcony windows had been a lot of fun for me; the game was entertaining, the accommodations luxurious. But when it was time for bed, the air outside was too cold to leave things open, so the door was closed and we settled in for the night.

In the morning, I woke with a slight cough. Air conditioning can do that, so I didn't worry about it. Bernie and Lil invited me to revisit their sight-seeing of the night before, and a stretch of legs seemed like a good idea, so I accompanied them down into the MGM Grand Casino and Shops complex.

Fifteen minutes into it, I knew I was in trouble. Unlike what I expected, I could smell no cigarettes, even though every table and nook had ashtrays. What I did feel, with a rising sense of horror, was my throat and sinuses constricting, and a growing pain in my chest. Yeah, the air in the casino complex didn't smell of tobacco ... but that was because it was chemically treated, and those chemicals were shutting down my breath.

Multiple Chemical Sensitivity is real, and it is no joke. After this vacation experience, I feel fairly certain that I've found the condition that is going to end my life sooner or later. Coming out of the casino area finally, I couldn't get enough air to stop the pressure building.

Who knew? The last time I was in a casino of any kind was probably 30 years ago. It was smoky and noisy and nasty back then -- back then, they didn't know how to add chemicals to the air filtration to mask the smell of smoke. Oh, the fortunate days of back then.

So we headed off to the mountains, me coughing intermittently and tasting a chemical wash in my mouth.

We got to Williams, Arizona, and our accommodation for the next three days and nights: Mountain Ranch Resort, with a surprising and charming view of that snow-capped mountain.

Nice, right?

Do stay tuned.

Mortality and Monitors

A week ago last Thursday, I had an interesting day. While at the supermarket, I walked past a woman wearing a particularly vile perfume. Even though I never got within 15 feet of her (Bernie hustled me in the opposite direction as soon as he caught the first whiff), my eyes began to burn and tears welled up, my nasal passages and lungs burned, and I began to cough. Twenty minutes later, I felt dizzy and sick, and couldn't draw a full breath.

By mid-afternoon, I still couldn't eat or drink anything; my stomach felt tight and bloated. I felt like I was running out of air, but couldn't draw a deep breath. Couldn't. I seriously began to wonder if my time on Earth was up.

Fortunately, by nightfall, I was able to take full breaths again, and I am alive to tell about it. Being alive and not dying made me think about things I've been putting off, things I've been Not Doing Because They Are Silly.

One of the things I've been Not Doing is getting a TV for our bedroom. Why would we need a TV in the bedroom? Oh, maybe because we hog the living room TV watching Food Network most evenings, or DVDs that only Bernie and I watch; and sometimes I just don't want to watch Lillian's choice of cartoons. Another of the Not Doing things is replacing my desktop computer monitor. My little Sony has been a workhorse since 2003, and it still works, but truly, technology has made some advancements since then.

So since I actually had the money stashed away in my Other Shore account, why not use it before some random perfume-reeking cow does me in? On Saturday I killed two Things with one purchase. For the living room, I bought a monster 50" TV so that we can see every high-definition booger and crumb on our favorite football players, and put the 37" TV on my desk in the bedroom. We get cable back there, and a high-def TV isn't awful to be close to.

Oh, my goodness, Photoshop has taken on a whole new level of fun-ness. And you would be surprised how very quickly one can get used to having a monitor that size.

And here I am, alive, and enjoying the Silly Thing.