(no subject)

In 2017 I used the optometrist on the road towards Chapel Hill in the commercial area just outside the giant planned subdivision. Slowly irritations mounted about the place, in general not feeling like a patient but a commodity. Getting off their text messages and emails has been a headache, as the automated optimization of business seems to be something they do well. Feh.

So i finally made an appointment with the optometrist in Pittsboro. The assistant seemed to be giving the receptionist a bit of a "Do you northerners say this?" quiz (Something like "this ol' mule still gots some life in 'er") and she proceeded to call me "sweet lady" as in "So sit down right here sweet lady."

It's a new permutation on "honey" and "sugar" and i've never understood the need, but i've got the social skills of a physicist, so what do i know.

There was NOT a battery of machines to sit down at and be processed through. Not the dread machine with the peripheral vision stripes, no dots, no puffs of air. Everything was delightfully analogue. Which means dilating my pupils and the time sink that is.

I've mixed feelings about that.

On one hand, the optometrist we were last seeing in California had the laser widget that developed the three dimensional map of the back of my eye. He could show me the optic nerve anomaly. I appreciated that. On the other hand, i felt the local doctor's direct observation was just as careful and thorough. So, technically, i think the examination is a satisfactory standard of care. The difference is the time - waiting for the dilation, waiting for it to wear off. Because it's only a handful of minutes away, i don't mind. The alternative would be the time it takes to get to Chapel Hill. I think i'll keep going to these folks, but I let Christine -- who goes up to Chapel Hill far more often than i --know that she might choose someone else.

I spent some of my time with dilated pupils walking Carrie. It was right at sunset and bats flitted down the road. I stood at the bridge over the creek, looking at the black branches silhouetted against the molten orange sky reflected in the water, and found two bats swirling above the water at bridge height.

I let Carrie run off leash from the back of the yard in the twilight. We're developing a balance of trust: even if she won't come when called, she does stay within hearing as she crashes through the woods. She comes by me enough that i can pretend i am permitting her to run by telling her to "go, go" (as if i could really stop her) and i can give her a treat to reinforce her checking in. Eventually, i can grab her harness on a treat stop and put the leash back on her. She seems to understand that going down the driveway to the road is not approved.

It was so mild yesterday: she spent the whole day on the deck. Maybe i should spend the day on the porch.

(I've felt so out of it since Saturday. Am i always out of it? )