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2003-05-07 - 12:49 p.m. I can see clearly now� Here I sit at the computer, typing away wearing safety goggles. (Wow, Theo, that�s a new way to deal with email fights, isn�t it? Does the spam bounce off or something? No, no, no.) I had Lasik yesterday. In between randomly resucing Martin from the airport and threatening the hotel staff who were preventing me from getting in touch with my husband (Roland is marooned in the outer circle of hell called Fort Wayne, Indiana), my wonderful mother-in-law took me for eye surgery. Less than 24 hours later, I�m 20/25. I still that halo effect around bright objects (Either that, or I�m able to see auras now.), but very very pleased. The only thing I wasn�t expected was the smell. After Dr. Katzen finished one eye, I asked about the burning smell � it�s ionization from the laser burning the air � like lightning. Right after lasik, your vision is hazy/smoky. The nurses thought I was distressed, but in truth I just couldn�t understand the physics behind why this was so. After the surgeon explained there was extra water/hydration behind the corneal flap that would drain out over the afternoon, I understand the scattering of light/ensuring haze effect and was content. Poor nurses. Engineers make good and bad patients. We understand what we�re told, but you have to tell us until we understand. Poor Martin � yes Count Martin from Trimaris � was tossed on a plane Monday evening with no achievable endpoint. Car and hotel reservations completely screwed up. Rags? Hello, Theo I have a weird question. What is Martin�s real last name in case I have to have him paged at the airport? Rags didn�t even blink. I guess people are getting used to my randomness. Or that, since K had given Martin the phone number, he was hardly surprised. So, Martin is rescued (don�t go near BWI unless you have to. The construction and rent-a-cop traffic guys are c-r-a-z-y), given a nice relaxing hard cider and bedded down on the office futon. He bids me a fond farewell the next morning, as I leave for surgery, with a Don�t take this the wrong way, but I hope not to see you when you get back. Upon my return from the lasik center, the note on my computer screen indicates everything was well, so Martin is now safely adrift somewhere in the world again. As I drove through the darkness to BWI, I was glad to help Martin, thinking the world can use more kindness and that somewhere, someone would be kind to Roland. Or not. For Roland is stuck somewhere in Indiana, a place stuck in last century. Where his cell phone has only unpredictable analog coverage (in a major city?!?!), he went through three hotel rooms before he would accept the lodgings provided (I don�t want to know, cause he�s not that picky a guest). I had to get uber-bitchy with the front desk of his hotel to get in touch with him. I�m sorry ma�am, but he must have his phone set to voicemail. So, walk down and knock on his door. I can�t leave the desk. Listen, I had surgery yesterday and I am *done* with not being able to speak to my husband. Offer. Me. A. solution. In related news, phone rings ten minutes later and it�s my sweet baboo calling from the second circle of hell. Why can�t we just get good customer service, without resorting to rudeness? Why can�t people, who are paid to be receiptionists, offer a welcome? I swear, I thought people were nicer last century, but apparently not. The weekend of Crown was fabulous and socializing and celebrating, amazing hospitality, and good shopping. Henry was tormented, our new Heirs congratulated. I even got to sleep with Nikulai and have a brief, but intense, interlude with Lucia�s Miss Molly cat. But the stories of traveling to and fro Cuan and Padraigin�s and randomness along the way will have to wait for another writing because � Yawn. Must get off the computer and nap. Have to rest eyes to let them heal. BdeB � they are making Scooby Doo #2. We have to watch#1 soon. � � Scribble to Theo previous - next �