Now that it’s been a couple weeks that I’ve had 100% of my hearing back, it’s time for something new: I’m getting conjunctivitis! It never fails; I always get it when it’s the hottest, or when I’m on vacation. I always get it when I go to Ireland; there’s something about that country that just inspires bacteria and/or viruses to attack my eyeballs (or rather, the tissue covering them). I got it in the middle of the desert in Kenya, and at an Irish music festival in D.C. (see? The Ireland thing again). Now, since the heat index is well above 38 (see me gettin’ funky with the centigrade? That’s 100 to you philistines!) my eyes are at it again. Oh well. Binocular vision is for pussies anyway.
My car wouldn’t start the other day, but I knew it would. Do you know how you just know things sometimes? I was in the parking lot of Market Basket and I turned the key and… the battery went on, but the ignition did nothing. BUT, I knew it would start for the following reasons:
- It wasn’t snowing
- There wasn’t anyone with me that I didn’t know very well
- I wasn’t wearing a dress
- There were no live animals or perishable goods in the car
- I wasn’t late for anything
- I had my cell phone with me
And lo and behold, my car started!
I should have my own psycho psychic hotline!
The heat is also amusing because it causes my cats, who normally sleep curled into tight little balls like armadillos, to sleep all stretched out on their backs with their legs up in the air.
Or they just drape themselves over things:
STOP THE PRESS!!
I just found someone in my Family tree who was FRENCH!!! HOLY CRAP! I’m being sarcastic here, because it seems that everyone on my dad’s dad’s side of the family as well as my mom’s mom were all of Scottish or English descent (nobody really bothered to keep track of the tree on Grandfather’s or Nana’s branches–the Hungarian and Irish ones). Nobody mixed it up with any other race like EVER except for this one French dude. Whoa, you go people in the 1600s–you go with that funky multi-culturalism! Yeah, being Jewish or Irish wouldn’t get you into the D.A.R., I guess so who really cares, right?
