Well. First thing right out of the gate, lost a contact lens. And by "a contact lens," I mean "my last contact lens." Which makes me, for all practical intents and purposes, blind.

Or, possibly, not. I'm astonished at how well I was able to function yesterday without corrective lenses. It's a little disorienting, but I'm not bumping into things, tripping over things, or anything riddikalus. And I can actually do my job, which is nice.

*amused*

At any rate, this is a good thing because it forces me to go to the eye doctor, something I've been putting off for an unreasonably long time because of an irrational distaste for medical professionals. I've never been treated poorly by a doctor; I just don't like them, and I have no good reason why. I hope medicine will forgive me in advance. It's going to be a while before I can get in there, though, thanks to the arcane, draconian hoops I have to jump through to be able to take advantage of my vision benefits. So this next half-week or so should be rather entertaining, at least for the people around me. I mean, I can't call off sick until this gets straightened out.

And it's not like I'm Alicia Alonso, or anything; for those of you who didn't know--and I didn't, until yesterday--Alicia Alonso was one of Cuba's premier ballerinas. When she was nineteen she had to have four surgeries for a detached retina, which left her with practically no peripheral vision, and then she had to stay in bed for a whole year to make sure she healed. And yet, even after all that, she still worked her way up to the point where she could dance the principal roles again, including Giselle, for which she became famous. So if Alicia Alonso could do that, I can certainly manage a relatively sedate librarian career while waiting for a doctor's appointment, and new lenses.

Still, though. Jeez.

*sighs, resigned*

The other shoe that dropped yesterday was that, when I came home, S. had taken more things. He had, however, also left a few, mostly things I didn't realize he had, like the antimassacar one of my library school classmates crocheted for me, a pair of black stockings (I knew I had one more pair), etc. The kicker, though, was that my soon-to-be-former MiL also took it upon herself to return the gift I gave her last Christmas, a hand-stitched sampler of her favorite epithet, "Whatever."

*blink blink*

I was so flipping tired when I got home that all I could think of was, "Man, that's cold." I can see it her way, though. Really. I mean, come on: pernicious bitch breaks your darling son's heart, you really don't want her needlework, now, do you? I imagine that's what it looks like to her, and while I could be wrong, I don't think I am.

*sighs*

So, anybody want an FTL original? Technically I still owe three of you on that everlasting craft meme, so cdaisym, cedarlibrarian and infowidget get first dibs. Photo upon request.

*headdesk*

And for some reason, the whole ridikkalus day was kind of like this video:



Weird, isn't it? Is that not the whitest suit in the world? Life's just crazy like that: some guy hopping around in a white suit, disturbing people...crazy.

*smiles*

On a related note, started an interesting little book last night called Going Sane. The author argues that we've always been, culturally, more interested in madness, and as a result haven't defined sanity very well: what's sane? Well, the opposite of mad. But what's madness, and why should we aspire to sanity rather than to it? Very twisty-interesting: I mean, swap out "normal" for "sane" and yet get quite the cogent, lucid argument for being bull-goose looney.

*twinkle twinkle*

Let's see:

Poem = For an Amorous Lady.

Editorial = The Cost of Smarts. Er, what?

*headscratch*

And, apparently, poor is the new rich. Mind-boggling.

I suppose I should eat something. Take care.

That is pensively all.