I had an eye doctor appointment today, because my contacts are aging rapidly and must be replaced. I had to take off work for this appointment, so no getting paid for those two hours. Halfway there, I realized that I had forgotten to bring along the name and phone number of my previous eye doctor in Chicago, and it was too late to turn around. So I got to the eye doctor, and I handed over my glasses (which I had brought with me) so he could take a look at the prescription.
Now, I know I'm myopic. I have been since I was seven. This is not news to me. So I really don't appreciate an eye doctor who walks back into the exam room and cracks, "Gee, you're lucky you have things in your eyes, or else you couldn't see at all, ha ha." Aww, thank you, Dr. Farrar. Have a Roman fig. On the exam goes, right through the numbing eye drops that make your eyes feel funny for a couple of hours, up to the point where the ordering lady reminds me that no insurance program will pay for contacts. Sigh.
I decided to sew scores today at work, and ended up wrestling with an oversized orchestral requiem that I had to go over twice. Got stabbed in the arm by the awls, too, because the score was so big.
And I had cramps all day today, the really annoying ones that acetominophen doesn't do a fershlugginer thing for.
I should be doing something productive right now, like writing or editing or thesis-reading, but it's too hot, and I have no will to do anything useful at the moment. And I'm in a bad enough mood that no reading, writing, or editing will come out well at all. I feel like I want chocolate, but I don't, really. I want tea, but it's too hot for tea. I don't even know what I want, but I want something.
Maybe I ought to just go to bed and hope that tomorrow will be not so rotten.