I really just need to shut up sometimes and not make flippant jokes.
Had fun at the eye hospital today.
Remember how I made jokes about soldering irons to the eyes? Well about that…
Turns out that while my body lets me down daily every way it can think of (I realise I should probably write about this given many wont know how broken I am!) and in the most original, rare and imaginative ways but when it comes to tear ducts I am blooming Wolverine. Very typical, very me and utterly unsurprising at this point.
Even without the X-man magic leading to my previously cauterised lower tear ducts reopening I was once more headed toward the hellish regions of more eye surgery. We only found out about my powers of healing (but only when healing is the one thing not desired) while poking around in my eyes to put teeny tiny plastic bath plugs in my upper tear ducts as an interim measure while I waited to have those cauterised. So the plans changed. He stuck the bath plugs in my ‘reopened under new management’ lower tear ducts instead, taking great delight in informing me that not only had they reopened but they where now bigger than they had been previously, he then proved his point by squirting saline solution down the back of my throat via my eye an experience I am sad to report is not a new one but one I will never, ever, get used to. So now I wait for a date for round two of soldering the lower ducts closed and my upper ones can be a special gift for Christmas 2015. I also have a whole new collection of eye drops, one of which I was gleefully informed is ‘even more gooey’.
Last time I sported my two black eyes for three weeks so by quickly utilising my astounding A level maths skills that will be 6 wonderful weeks or 11.4% of this year spent looking like an aged balding panda and it also means that I will have to keep still while a soldering iron is pressed into my eye at least 4 times, possibly (like last time) by somebody who has never done it before. I will also be reminded what burning flesh smells like (spoiler: unpleasant) on two separate occasions. I have so very much to look forward to this year. My year. My year.
I’m not finished whining yet about todays tails of woe and karmic red letters pointing out the folly of making light of things.
The next hit was in the form of text message while I sorted the children out for bed. Yes, bed. THE beds. The ones we weren’t talking about, most defiantly weren’t thinking about and had foolishly bargained to at least have one week of term before I had to deal with. I should have known really. When I had to turn the pre christmas delivery down they only let me in on their exiting plans the day before so why on earth I was surprised to get a text this evening informing me that the beds would be delivered tomorrow afternoon is beyond me. I can’t tell them not to deliver again but I am also no nearer being ready so I am going to have to deal with living in a flat pack warehouse as I somehow manage to dispose of a set of bunk beds, a metal frame double bed, a huge wardrobe thing (the open type thankfully, small mercies and all that, no doors.), a chest of draws, one single mattress and one double mattress. In a 3 door Corsa called Bob. Can he do it? Don’t be bloody daft.
To complete the holy trinity of things I have written about and clearly jinxed myself about for ever more the girl has swimming in the morning and if you think I am as organised enough to have her swim kit all in one place post Christmas holidays then you haven’t been reading.
I did today while at the hospital however happen to hear one of the best names I have ever had the pleasure of coming across. Congratulations to Penelope Gotobed. You win big… although I appreciate that childhood was most likely painful and you are probably on the brink of jail time if one more person makes one more joke…