...that peculiar obliquity of vision where geometry becomes surreptitiously nonEuclidean. Then the checkerboard replacement strategy kicks in, causing segments of my visual field to become filled-in with what might possibly be being looked at, but often enough isn't. By this point the tip of my nose is beginning to go numb, in not quite the same way as it goes numb when I've drunk a little too much, but nearly so. Oh... fun... vertigo! Wheee!
I now have about fifteen minutes, give or take a few, before the hobnail-booted dwarves begin their riverdancing above my left temple.
Make that thirteen. I should go and get analgesia pdq.
Twelve.
Goodnight, sweet Kay, and flights of hobnail-booted dwarves kick thee to thy rest.
