Sickness is always a fun thing, especially when you've got a lot to do. So here I am, at dang-near three in the morning, when I should be working on my instrumentation project(s), and I'm writing on my blog. Procrastination is the layman's art, and I'm Picasso. I went to sing at the Tennessee Baptist Convention today in Sevierville, despite the lack of vocal ability, due to nasal and sinus things that I wouldn't even begin to discuss with you even if you're not eating, thank you. I think I picked up this particular microorganism from Jared. No, I was not there to sing by myself, I was with the Carson Newman Mass Choir, and it was quite an enjoyable experience.
Andy and I were on the way back on 66, and we got behind a Panera Bread truck, which caused us to somehow make a spontaneous U-turn to head back to Gatlinburg to visit Panera Bread. Pavlov would be proud. So we go back to Gatlinburg to get coffee and assorted accompaniments from Panera, which, after parking for $5 and walking through the cold for a couple blocks, we found to be closed since 8pm on Tuesdays. Tourist towns in the off-season. So then, sick with amoebas in various forms (Andy's sick too), we began to stalk the deserted strip for coffee. We finally came upon the Donut Friar, a place that has been open since time began. The guy running the late shift has a granddaughter at Carson Newman that my fiancee knows. Six degrees of separation will take you to anyone in the world. So we had coffee and a couple donuts (that's the southern spelling) and wrote song lyrics. Then we trudged back up the strip with freshly warmed/caffeinated throats and headed for Shoney's. This is what you might call the Mayberry form of clubbing. So with I in my tux, and Andy in his Sunday-morning wear, we made a fairly odd couple. Enough to draw stares and remarks about whether I had just gotten married. By the way, you can get a $69 drive-thru special at some of these chapels, for the elope-ist in you. We had two more cups of coffee at Shoney's and ended up talking about denominations with a Polish waiter named Kamil. We didn't necessarily overcome the language barrier, but there was some sort of communication going on. I felt like witnessing to him right there, but I didn't. Here again, my fear conquers me. Frank Sinatra in the cd player sang us back to Jefferson City, where I long for much-needed rest that I'm probably not going to get. If I hadn't been sick, this would've been a great night. But I prayed that God would take away some of Katrina's pain and give it to me. Leave it to me to be chivalrous and then not get it when the consequences pile up. I'm glad my Father still hears my prayers though, and loves me enough to answer them. I have to thank him for this sickness, even though I want him to take it away. Pray for me with this illness. I'm going to fill my body with zinc pills. Goodnight, don't let the Santa Claus bite!