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I have been working, in fits and starts (mostly fits, but what else is new?), on a response to sck5000's long-winded and only occasionally really rude responses to my previous post, along with a couple of short story starts and a rant about the junior-jingoism currently attempting to quell serious debate on serious issues in this country, and have been finishing up on bloody little.
Steve? You'll have to wait a little longer (much to your relief I'm sure, not to mention the relief of the rest of My Gentle Readers).
I am still half-blind. Due to a strange over-sight on the part of my surgeon, my GP's absence for holidays, and my refusal to take Laura's suggestion that I push harder serious, I only managed to get a consultation with an opthamologist last week.
That doctor, I am happy to say, told me I am healing very well (in fact, she said that people having their orbital bones replaced "often" require one or two more sessions under the knife). I am less happy to report that I am now officially an old man.
My new, hideously expensive, glasses will be bifocals. That's right, folks. From 4-eyes to 8-eyes.
Not that I didn't, on some level, expect it. I've been noticing for some time that small-print - the contents of vitamin bottles, young people's websites, and other sundry arcana have been getting increasingly hard to read over the past 2 or 3 years.
And so it has come at last. Not only do I need lenses to correct my astigmatism, but also my new-found friend, short- (or is it far-?) sightedness.
Well, whatever. The new pair are supposed to be ready sometime this week. Believe you me, I can't wait. I work with computers, I read a lot ... my eye-sight is important to me, and I am growing extremely weary of walking around in a blurry haze. Bring on the bifocals! I cry. Bring 'em fucking on.
Meanwhile, Laura and I are swiftly approaching the second anniversary of our first date, almost as rapidly the second anniversay of the first time we enjoyed what is now our bed and - amazingly - are only a few weeks away from our first anniversary as co-habitants.
I am happy to report I love her more now than I have at any time before. That girl has brought more joy into my life than I know how to say; I only hope I have managed the same for her.
Steve? You'll have to wait a little longer (much to your relief I'm sure, not to mention the relief of the rest of My Gentle Readers).
I am still half-blind. Due to a strange over-sight on the part of my surgeon, my GP's absence for holidays, and my refusal to take Laura's suggestion that I push harder serious, I only managed to get a consultation with an opthamologist last week.
That doctor, I am happy to say, told me I am healing very well (in fact, she said that people having their orbital bones replaced "often" require one or two more sessions under the knife). I am less happy to report that I am now officially an old man.
My new, hideously expensive, glasses will be bifocals. That's right, folks. From 4-eyes to 8-eyes.
Not that I didn't, on some level, expect it. I've been noticing for some time that small-print - the contents of vitamin bottles, young people's websites, and other sundry arcana have been getting increasingly hard to read over the past 2 or 3 years.
And so it has come at last. Not only do I need lenses to correct my astigmatism, but also my new-found friend, short- (or is it far-?) sightedness.
Well, whatever. The new pair are supposed to be ready sometime this week. Believe you me, I can't wait. I work with computers, I read a lot ... my eye-sight is important to me, and I am growing extremely weary of walking around in a blurry haze. Bring on the bifocals! I cry. Bring 'em fucking on.
Meanwhile, Laura and I are swiftly approaching the second anniversary of our first date, almost as rapidly the second anniversay of the first time we enjoyed what is now our bed and - amazingly - are only a few weeks away from our first anniversary as co-habitants.
I am happy to report I love her more now than I have at any time before. That girl has brought more joy into my life than I know how to say; I only hope I have managed the same for her.