And here I was thinking it was some innocent child who had passed along conjunctivitis to me. Maybe I'm still sore about that kindergartner who had warts on his hands and always wanted to hold my hand. Having those "caught" warts removed from the pads of my fingers was worse than childbirth. But I'm not bitter. Just suspicious, these 18 years later. But I digress.
Who knew you could have a raging eye infection that could bring you down physically? Just the other night I was sharing with my friend A (whose son married my daughter!) that I just was dragging around. It was past the possibility of jet lag, and a stretch to believe it was a lack of caffeine because I traded coffee for tea in Ireland.
And what is one to do when an eye infection saps one physically? Dial up Season Two of "Friday Night Lights" on line. I had no choice during my recuperation.
You see, my Netflix Season One of "Gilmore Girls" came by mail. I tried to get into it, but Coach Taylor only speaks about ten words per episode on "FNL", and Lorelai and Rory use every word in Webster's Unabridged Dictionary twice in each show. Here's something I never thought I'd type: too many words! Time to dial it back in Star's Hollow, girls.
I hope I don't end up standing at a meeting saying, "Hello, my name is R, and I'm addicted to FNL." (Not to be confused with SNL, which was in it's infancy and prime when I was in college in the 70s. They don't make them like that anymore, says MeMaw.)
But addicted? Nah. There are only five seasons; I'm half way through Season Two. There's an expected end.
But I hear they are shooting the new episodes in Austin even as I blog. Hmmmm. Maybe when my eye clears up...