Took advantage of an unexpected opportunity to do some revisions this morning before work and managed to snag Holly to work with her. While she was executing traitors, I was learning about talking heads (in two sentences, Holly summed up half the problem I detect in this novel). It’s all so obvious now. It’s on the list of stuff to fix next time I go through, because, well, that’s work.

The Air Force says I can have PRK. Now I wait to hear, probably next week, if the Navy will perform the procedure. My eye doctor doesn’t think this will be a problem. I also have to buy a pair of sunglasses, because I have to wear them when I go outside for at least the next year (eye doc says she recommends everyone do this, by the way, not just people having PRK surgery).

I did grocery shopping tonight–I’m amazed at how accurately I calculated just how much stuff I could pack into my freezer. And the pantry is stuffed to the gills, too. Except for perishables, I shouldn’t have to shop for months now, although, I’m just making sure I have enough for two weeks. Tomorrow, I fill up with gas, run the dishwasher, and do laundry. Tomorrow afternoon, I dump my duties onto the new guy who’s moving into his new seat in our division to replace Mike (mostly, he’s to attend staff meetings and manage our organizational Inbox–he’s been in our organization longer than I have been, so he’s just new to my division; he’ll do fine). I also call to find out what time my surgery is scheduled for on Thursday.

Thursday? Get the knee sliced into, shaved, and vacuumed out. Friday? I’m certain I’ll wonder whatever came over me to entice me to permit Thursday to happen. Get well, and do the same thing all over again on March 7th with my eyes. Whatever possessed me to double the number of surgeries I’ve had in my lifetime in one month’s time? A co-worker summed it up, “It means you’re getting older.” Great. But I do know it beats whatever alternatives I have. Too many people don’t get the opportunity to get older.