Given that I am now a woman of a certain age, I find that trips to the eye doctor are much less fun. Yesterday, after said doctor made a snarky but kind* comment that my current wonky vision has less to do with my contact lenses and more to do with my occupation and advancing age, I left with a prescription that is doing its best to balance said issues and my remarkably astigmatic right eyeball. The result isn't ideal. I mean, I can see, mostly, but can't find a way to work at the computer with my contacts in without constantly moving my head up and down in order to find just the right spot where everything is clear.
Feh, I say.
I might just have to switch over to glasses all the time until my vision gets worse, at which point I'll just do the contacts and reading glasses thing. Or not. Arg,
Rather than stew in my irritation, I gave up and went for a walk in the woods with Lucy.
She was pondering the meaning of life when I said her name, thereby destroying her concentration. Now we will never know.
Corgis aren't really water dogs but this particular one seems determined to fling herself into any available stream, puddle or damp leaf pile.
The phlox are in bloom. The dog is short.
While she's perky here, currently she is sacked out under my desk. I appear to have broken her ...
* I like the guy. Really.