...might as well be listening to Genesis

Who told all the other drivers that I just love to be followed too closely? I thought that that was supposed to be a little secret among us hard-line Leo Sayer fans. C'mon, someone must have told, for since I started commuting again yesterday I've had someone on my bumper most of the way here and back and here again. And I simply adore it.

I've been arriving at 7 so that I can clear out by 4. I actually should be able to leave by 3 since I take no lunch, but I've yet to broach the subject of those hours with my boss. I've had to wait until 8 to get coffee since, while coffee does exist on every floor but mine, cups are nowhere to be found. And the nominal Starbucks downstairs opens at 8.

Why does coffee not exist on my floor? I've no idea. It seems exactly the same as the other floors save requiring a different number in the elevator. (In all actuality these elevators require that you input your number before entering. This is along the lines of the sky lobby elevator, though you don't exactly need a sky lobby for a 14-story building.) So I guess I should've said "...using a different number on the elevator call pad." I'm too lazy to go back and change it, however.

Living with this new-fangled elevator has the possibly unintended consequence of causing me to stand around in a regular elevator until I'm satisfied that it really isn't going anywhere until I push the appropriate button in the elevator car.

I dared to bring the box of granola bars to work that I bought at Kroger last night while waiting for my eyes to dilate. Yes, that story makes many assumptions. And it is quite boring, at that. But not half as much so as the backstories that, while every bit as boring as stated, should clear the story up:

eyes to dilate backstory:
I got LASIK last September as a 40th birthday present from my some of my many benefactors, and, while the intial results were astounding, I've been regressing lately. And my eyes aren't doing so well, either. I'm now to the point at which one eye is noticeably better than the other for distance, with the other eye being much better for reading. Since this has the effect of making me cranky about anything that happens either close up or far away (or really anyplace in-between), I decided to invoke the one year warranty and get an enhancement in the left eye. That's the one that's good for reading but bad for distance (myopic, for those schooled in the ancient ways of the eye care professional).

So I'm now to the point in the process at which those ancient eye care professionals actually start trying to figure out what's going on. Now that I'm out of the warranty period, don'tcha know. The next step was to test my eyes with the focusing mechanism effectively disabled. This had the additional benefit of dilating my pupils and causing nothing but laughs and general chaotic mirth while attempting to read music later on at choir practice.

box of granola bars backstory:
The ophthamologist has an optometrist that does all his so-called data mining for him, so I was at said optometrist's office last night waiting for the drops to take effect when I decided to run to Kroger. I really can't believe what a boring story I'm telling you, but you do seem to be enjoying it. Half-way through the store it hit me that I could see nothing. I ended up buying some things that I hoped were what I thought they were, but that remains to be seen, so to speak. This because my pupils are still huge.

So I have this box on my desk of what I believe are granola bars.

I dared to bring the granola bars backstory:
I've always been nervous around food, especially of the junk ilk. We did have an ongoing war in my parents' household to hide and later enjoy orange sodas and the like, but I just can't believe it affected me as profoundly as everything else that was ever done to me, by me, with me, for me, or without me in my childhood. Ever. But alas, here seems to be the proof. I would've thought that by now I would've finished off the box of - oh, I don't know, it kinda looks like 67 - bars, but I've yet to even open it.

So, as can be seen from the above statement taken in concert with the original statement before all the backstories began ... I deserve a cookie. Or at least a granola bar. Think I will - be right back.


Oh. Guess that was a six, not a 67.

I was actually down to 175 lbs. this morning. That from a high of 187 just a couple months ago. And all I really had to do was to quit going to the gym. Very strange, I know, so I'll go into more depth later.

And for those still in the dark about what a Kroger is, it's that grocery store that people have a tendency to go to just after saying, "I'm going to Kroger."