Steph, I may have all those items which you could borrow. e-me.

Really? Excellent! I feel sad, though, that I have no luchadore items to lend *you.*

E-mailing in a minute.

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Oooh, Angel S3 just landed in my Gold Box.

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It's weird. Both the optomotrist and the regular doctor saw nothing wrong with my eye. So last night I foolishly went to a website that listed all the various things that could cause loss of vision. Based on the assumption that there was nothing wrong with my eye (and a few other things), I eliminated everything but "brain tumor." Then I decided to quit with the self-diagnosis and just wait until today's examinatin.

Yes. I didn't google yesterday, because since you first posted about your vision problem, "BRAIN TUMOR" was all I could think.

The opthomologist did do a more thorough check of the eye, which is how he found the clot. So part of me is thinking, "Yay! No brain tumor!" (Which, if there was one, would also have been named "Brownie.")

YAY and oh, I'm so sorry about the clot. I hope it's a stupid, one-time, flukey deal and that the damage in the end, is nil. Health to you, tommyrot.

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What would I wear as Starbuck that'd make me not look like me? Aside from a wig? As for Zoe, I don't even remotely have the clothes. Nor the posture, I'm sure.

So many things take wigs. And the ones that don't tend to look like me. I could get one of these, wear cargo pants, and be Martha. No, not that one. Washington. And not that one either.

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ita, a "surrender the booty" flag is always appropriate.

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I really hated your boss, Sophia. Pfah! I spit in her direction.

I do now, too! It is weird, but I feel like my old job was like being in a (verbally) abusive relationship. It made me bat-shit-craxy, too! I should know this well, two, because this was the fourth non-healthy boss/school paper advisor/theatre director relationship that I have had. When I was seeing a therapist I tried to talk about it, actually, but she seemed more interested in more personal relationships.

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What would I wear as Starbuck that'd make me not look like me?

Oh, come on. Get a cigar. I bet you have a couple of tank tops you could layer. Get some dog tags and chop off the edges. Get Jamie Bamber and pull him around with you on a leash.

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Get a cigar. I bet you have a couple of tank tops you could layer. Get some dog tags and chop off the edges.

Up to the dog tags, you're still just talking about me. Add the dog tags, and we're talking Martha Washington.

Throw in Jamie Bamber, however, and like hell I'm going to some stupid party. I'm staying home!

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Clearly, my costume standards are too low.

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John Roberts -- not Dave Roberts, as he is in my brain -- got confirmed, big surprise. (If he were Dave Roberts, we would have a genial mixed-race San Diego center-fielder leading the Supreme Court, and every decision would be in favor of Boston, and the justices would be required to sprint from chambers.) You know, politics, blah blah blah, but I would be a lot less uneasy about the guy if he ever blinked.

I think he is a robot. Think about it: Reaganite apparatchik, perfect grammar, failure to blink -- got to be a robot.

Eyeball clots are bad, but I too was thinking brain tumor, or else some exotic kind of retinopathy, which is only fun and dramatic when it happens to English policemen. (It was a TV series. He figured out he was going blind, in part, by crashing his car.) So, yay for only partial eyeball damage!

Tom, did the ophthalmologist say whether the vision problems could be corrected with lenses or anything? Or will it just be "You're standing in my blurry post -- ah, much better."

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