Brother, can you spare a white cane?
So. Righty-roo. The rest of this week is shaping up to be a series of potentially-classic days; the kind that give you endless amounts of material to write about.
The plan: go by the vet's tomorrow. Pick up sedatives for darling kitties, numbers one and two. It's time for their yearly rabies shots, and given the fang-and-claw showcase that was last year's vaccinations, I think it's safe to say that I'm not bringing the little darlings within ten feet of a needle without giving them some serious happy drugs.
I'll make a morning appointment with the vet, so that Jeff and I can give the darlings their pills in the morning before he leaves for work, and then as soon as the Happy Drugs kick in, I'll bundle the darlings into their cat carrier and take them for their yearly abuse-with-needles.
Oh, but the week gets better! The cats don't realize it, but I also get to perform a penance of my own this week. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's time for me to go back to the optometrist. My vision's changed enough that I now have only two choices: get a new prescription, and soon, or else deal with ever-more-frequent eyestrain headaches.
Given that today's knocked out most of an afternoon of work and forced me to take a two-hour nap earlier this evening, I think it's safe to say that it's time to get the glasses.
You did know that I have bat genes, right? Of course, I missed out on the really cool echolocation genes (although I do have a tendency to make high-pitched squeaking noises when I'm really excited). I also missed out on the really cool toes that would let me hang upside down from joists and rafters…but I got the great vision!
Technically, I fall into the "moderately myopic" category, since my distance correction is somewhere around a -4 in both eyes. (For those of you playing with decent eyes and who can't translate diopters, -4 in diopters translates to something like 20/400 vision, uncorrected.) Oh, yeah, but it gets better—once you factor in the astigmatism and some other bits, the end result is that sans glasses, I've got a bit of a problem…
You should've heard my last optometrist cackle when I asked why my vision was so weird. He asked me to describe what I saw, and he shook his head and said, "Okay, you say that without your glasses, things have 'multiple blurry edges'? Hasn't anyone ever told you that you have double vision?"
I do have to give him credit, though; he talked me into trying bifocals, and they've made a world of difference in the past couple of years. Just a smidge of correction (either +0.25 or +0.5 in each eye) has helped eradicate the tension headaches that were [one of] the bane[s] of my existence while in college.
So, yeah, I'm a twentysomething yuppie with bifocals. Hush.
Chances are, I'll get to pay for tranquilizing the cats by being forced to have my eyes dilated. Yeccch. (Nothing like wandering around the optometrist's office for a half-hour looking like a cross between a heroin junkie and a vampire.) I might be able to talk 'em out of that, but I doubt I can talk them out of the glaucoma test.
I've always wondered what evil beings came up with the twisted idea of blowing puffs of air into people's eyes and calling it a beneficial medical test. Now I know: felines. I can almost hear Edmund meow-whispering the word 'retribution' now…
For now, I'll code, rest my eyes as much as I can, and try to remember to not bind my hair up tomorrow. I've worn it for the last two days in a bun secured with two two chopsticks (a trick I learned in college) and today I was a bit … overzealous … in how tightly I wrapped the bun. As a result, my scalp protests every time I touch my hair. Ouch.
If the cats knew, I suspect they'd say it was only fair.