Fight or flight

This weekend I took a trip back in time. I spent two lovely days in Lewisburg, doing all of the things I loved to do in college -- walking to the Freez, enjoying a few beers at the Bull Run, and wandering aimlessly around Arts Fest while soaking in a beautiful Pennsylvania day. Absolutely zero stress.

Fine, I'm remembering college with rose colored glasses (it's finals time, right?). But New York punished me for letting my guard down just the same.

The worst part is, it led me into a false sense of security. I had a delightful walk through the park and a picnic dinner when I returned home after my lazy Pennsylvania weekend. "Maybe New York can offer me the same relaxation as Central PA," I foolishly thought.

Nope. First off, I wake up to find (forgive me, I've been ignoring the news this weekend) that I have willingly returned to the scene of a Stephen King novel. We all know how well I deal with any sort of medical scare, and at the height of allergy season, my crazy is on high alert.

Couple this with the fact that someone thought it would be an excellent idea to pilot a low flying jet plane around lower Manhattan this morning. Without informing anyone. This may seem odd to those outside the city, but we are a paranoid people. The last time Will Smith filmed a movie in New York, half the town was calling 911 over helicopters surrounding the Brooklyn Bridge. We will go "War of the Worlds" on your ass if we aren't informed of these things several times, with many well posted signs. Needless to say, the building across the street from mine was evacuated this morning. All because someone wanted a photo op of an Obama-less Air Force One.

So thank you, New York, for returning my adrenal glands to their previous gigantic size. I don't know what I would have done if I had to survive one more day of being completely relaxed.