Flashing Blue Lights

Well, this afternoon, I’m having an emergency appointment with a retinologist. Never have I been so grateful that my eye doctor made me go last year to see him so that they’d have a baseline for the day when my retina inevitably tears. Which, hopefully, is not today?

I mean, the upside to it tearing is that, when it tears, they think they may be able to fix the blind spot, which is unaddressable until then.

The downside is that it’s kind of terrifying.

So, anyway, last night before I went to bed, I saw this really bright blue flash, like a cop car, but not followed by any other flashes. I didn’t immediately think anything of it, because, at that point, I was like, well, maybe a cop car did go by just once and flash his lights. Then, this morning, in the dark of the living room, there was another bigger flash and I was like “Oh, shit, that’s not right.” But I talked myself into it being maybe the precursor to a migraine.

But I don’t have a headache. So, when there was another one right before ten, I called the eye doctor who told me to immediately call the retina specialist. And now I have my emergency appointment.

Here’s the thing–and maybe it says something fucked up about me–but because there’s no pain and because I feel 100% confident they can fix whatever’s wrong–I’m more curious than scared.

And this time the Butcher is coming with me, so I won’t be stuck wandering around barely able to see by myself.

The Great Betrayer

Yesterday, I met a rescued greyhound who sniffed me all over and, because I smelled like Sonnyboy’s slobber and fur and farts and burps, decided that I was okay. I was a person another dog was cool with. The rescued greyhound could be cool with me, too. She curled up right next to me and went to sleep.

Oh, but when I got home! There was such drama.

Who is this I smell on your clothes, B? Don’t you remember what a good boy I am? How soft my ears are? What if I cuddle with you like we’ve been separated for five million years? What if I pace back and forth, panting, because you’ve cheated on me with another dog? How could you? HOW COULD YOU?! I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t even happily bother the Red-Headed Kid. Are you happy? You’ve ruined my whole life. Please don’t leave me.

The Butcher has other dog friends. They’re totally cool. But apparently I am not supposed to know any other dogs that Sonnyboy doesn’t know.

Wait. Are those cookies? You know, I think this could all be cleared up between us for a couple of those cookies.

And when I tried to show him that I didn’t have any cookies, he tried to eat my hand. Which is normally a behavior punishable by banishment from the kitchen. But we weren’t in the kitchen. And I know I shouldn’t laugh at such bad behavior, but the look of shock and disappointment when he’s all “Those were just your fingers! You tart!!!!!” made me laugh.