Wrote an HILARIOUS post that has even zapped into the ether. Bother.
Went to the optometrist today to see if a new prescription will help ease my headaches. I hate getting my eyes tested because it scares me. I know I've had MRI scans and heart tests and given gallons of blood, all of which are way scarier than reading different sized letters off a screen. It's when they ask 'is this better? Or is this?' I seem to suffer some sort of existential angst because I simply can't tell and I just don't know. Though it's not as if I go around reading six point type so maybe it doesn't matter if i can't read the last line.
Dr opt seemed to lack a warm bedside manner. 'You're quite short sighted, aren't you?' was followed by 'your focussing isn't very good, is it?' All of which was topped off by 'Not much need for libraries these days, is there?' Yep, great big belly laughs all round.
Things got worse when I went to choose new frames. I really can't tell. They all look the same. I need help. I'd post photos and get your advice but the assistant managed to take them all blurry and the ones were I don't look dead I look like I've had a stroke. I left in despair.
Then I got home and a young thug came up the back path and smashed a wine bottle against the wall. I mean, really!
Despair continued with 1976 BBC series The secret army, about RAF escape routes in occupied Belgium. It's remarkable for being even handedly grim: the Nazis are terrible but so are the peasants, collaborators, RAF and Resistance. Despair all round.
Going to have a tipple of Baileys tonight. We got given a bottle for collecting our neighbour's mail. I come cheaper than that but who's to argue?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad