a whine and a snark
Update on the eye: my left eyelid is the size of Goldie Hawn's lips in The First Wives Club. It's enormous, and sore, and while I'm sure the antibiotic ointment is doing its job, I feel really gross. Also, I cannot see out of my left eye, unless you count the bright white blur, because my eye is full of goop: this mix of antibiotic and, well, gunk. Meanwhile, the boy is going to a Christmas party for his part time job tomorrow night (well, technically tonight) and he took me last year. He asked me to go again this year, and I was planning on going. Not sure if I really want to, though:
Q's co-workers: Hey D, did you get in a fight?
Me: No, I just have this highly contagious infection in my eye. *insert scary sound fx*
Q's co-workers: Oh. *large-scale migration to the other side of the room*
Probably not the party anyone had in mind. This is totally fucking up my plans; in addition to the party, I've got a really big speaking gig on Thursday, all day, and I'm hoping (but not necessarily hopeful) that this is going to clear up enough to where I can still do it.
New Agey aside: wonder what Louise Hay has to say about conjunctivitis...
In other news, something I've been meaning to post since Wednesday night: Frank from Top Chef is eerily like an ex of mine, both in looks (although my ex was hotter, I think; for starters, he had a neck) and personality (although, again, my ex could be a lot more charming than Frank came off, when he was so inclined). So it was quite satisfying to see his angry arrogant ass get the boot on Wednesday. And he still didn't get that he's not the most rockin' chef ever in the history of cooking. Seriously, he played the whole competition pretty much the way I would expect the ex to play it, from the absolute belief in his own superiority to the behind-the-scenes snarking about the other players to the bullying to the glares at the other players when a judge complimented them. It was creepy and fascinating to watch. I mean, on the one hand, the ex in question is, indeed, an ex, so I came to my senses, but on the other hand something in me was once attracted to that, and willing to ignore the, well, psychopath (not really) hiding in there. Wow, I've come a long way.
Anyway, this entry has gotten about five times longer than I planned when I sat down to write it, and I still haven't written about the important stuff. That will have to wait until tomorrow, because it's late and my one functioning eye is tired. For the moment: I've reached emotional equilibrium about Mom's death, although at times it feels pretty illusory.
Q's co-workers: Hey D, did you get in a fight?
Me: No, I just have this highly contagious infection in my eye. *insert scary sound fx*
Q's co-workers: Oh. *large-scale migration to the other side of the room*
Probably not the party anyone had in mind. This is totally fucking up my plans; in addition to the party, I've got a really big speaking gig on Thursday, all day, and I'm hoping (but not necessarily hopeful) that this is going to clear up enough to where I can still do it.
New Agey aside: wonder what Louise Hay has to say about conjunctivitis...
In other news, something I've been meaning to post since Wednesday night: Frank from Top Chef is eerily like an ex of mine, both in looks (although my ex was hotter, I think; for starters, he had a neck) and personality (although, again, my ex could be a lot more charming than Frank came off, when he was so inclined). So it was quite satisfying to see his angry arrogant ass get the boot on Wednesday. And he still didn't get that he's not the most rockin' chef ever in the history of cooking. Seriously, he played the whole competition pretty much the way I would expect the ex to play it, from the absolute belief in his own superiority to the behind-the-scenes snarking about the other players to the bullying to the glares at the other players when a judge complimented them. It was creepy and fascinating to watch. I mean, on the one hand, the ex in question is, indeed, an ex, so I came to my senses, but on the other hand something in me was once attracted to that, and willing to ignore the, well, psychopath (not really) hiding in there. Wow, I've come a long way.
Anyway, this entry has gotten about five times longer than I planned when I sat down to write it, and I still haven't written about the important stuff. That will have to wait until tomorrow, because it's late and my one functioning eye is tired. For the moment: I've reached emotional equilibrium about Mom's death, although at times it feels pretty illusory.