On the way home this evening, a pick-up truck caught on fire. The less-than-brilliant response team ended up blocking the street and trapping a half dozen cars right in the path of the growing smoke. One of those cars was mine.

Before long, smoke was surrounding my car, blocking my view of all but my panicked reflection in my windshield. While it was not that long before the smoke began to dissipate, I fear the damage was done.

Even with the windows tight, I began coughing rather violently. I reached in the back seat and snagged my nebulizer, but I am not sure that will be enough because I am still coughing and my throat is still scratchy.

Sitting there, I kept thinking about the California wildfires. This was one small engine fire. Can you imagine the impact of thousands of acres burning to a crisp? I cannot. Even for folks with a pair of fresh, pink lungs, I would thing inhaling the fetid air was disconcerting, if not downright frightening.

For the life of me, I still cannot figure out why the emergency vehicles blocked us in that way, nor why not one of the personnel came to check on me when it was clear my vehicle was blocking the traffic that had finally began to move once more.

I probably should have headed over to the hospital. I just wanted to come home and curl up in the green chair with my puppydog. I just nebulized again and hope that will be enough.

At least this day is over...