(st)itching to tell a story

life, in general, is good. i've gone so far as to get a fiddle teachers number; all i've to do now is call it. i'm excited. there doesn't seem to be too much committement needed because she's always moving too. i'll keep you posted what comes of it.

my glasses have decided that they'd rather been a pain in my life than do anything constructive. they live the remaining days of their life either tucked away in a pocket or, in the rare occasion that i wear a touque to support the arms behind my ears, on my head. i think i'll have to break down and ses a doctor since the mailing system won't get a script to me until well after i had ground my glasses into a thick pulp and made a few new friends who would later turn out to be lamp posts.

"but they were such good listeners" i would later say
"your not talking to anyone but yourself" would come the reply from no one because matty would still be in spain.

with those glasses in my pocket i spent my post-spectacle-shopping day pulling pints, avoiding the regulars and chatting with an american couple who kept me entertained all night. susan, another of the barstaff, made fun of me last night for being "prejudice" because i only talked to the foreigners. i didn't know where to begin telling her what was wrong with what she said ... so i agreed.

the american couple said good evening at the appropriate time (something other patrons might want to learn) and we closed up shop. the final task of closing up shop involves arming the alarm and making a mad dash to the door. on the way there are lights to turn out and massive handless doors to trapease through. the act of closing the very last door usually isn't followed by a gasp from susan, nor a sudden realization that i left something behind, nor the onset of a pain that can only come from having a massive handless door close firmly on my middle and other-ring finger.

so in the end i was able to spend some nice quality time with the night watchman at the cork emergency waiting room with the doc prepped the O.R. for a silly canadian boy who had less than agile hands. two hours and three stitches later i am on my way home.

i'll have to set up a video conference with mom when it comes time to remove the stitches as it will cost me 50 quid to visit a doctor.