So the good news is, I don't have strep throat.
The bad news is, conjunctivitis has absolutely nothing to do with grammar.
Twenty-seven years. I made it twenty-seven years without dealing with what should otherwise be relegated to the world of snot-nosed kids who don't wash their hands and play in dirt and dog poop. Unless the Girl is secretly and vindictively farting in my pillowcase, there's no reason I should have woken up with a pink eye full of nastiness.
Awesome.
The weather isn't helping. Grey, cold, wet -- basically all we have to look forward to until June. Boston would be so much better if it were 800 miles to the south, where winters aren't nine months long. (One more of a host of reasons to pack up and move to DC.) At least I have no reason to go outside today, other than to pick up some eye drops from the pharmacy. Although the couch is particularly inviting, I've got to buckle down on a project for the Parliament today, since we're going to the International Seafood Expo tomorrow -- goopy eye permitting, of course.
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