The real problem with insomnia is the complete and total lack of warning. It would be one thing if you could plan for it in advance-- if you went to bed with the already certain that, for example, you were going to wake up at half past three and that would be it for the night. If you knew that you wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep despite your best efforts, despite the soothing herbal tea and soporific reading material-- well, you would just get on with it, wouldn't you? Forget all that trying to fall back asleep nonsense and do something productive, maybe even accomplish something. Free up the daylight hours for something better.

And if you knew in advance that you wouldn't be able to fall asleep at all until 5:00 am, or 5:30 or 6:00 or so, you wouldn't bother going to bed until then, would you? I certainly wouldn't.

But, of course, you don't know that sort of thing in advance, which explains why spent last night pottering around, drinking endless cups of soothing herbal tea and not much else. Oh, I caught up on some reading, but I sure as hell wasn't sleeping. Luckily, I managed to avoid waking up Elvis, so I suppose that's something. In the end, I managed to get in about three hours of sleep, plus another two at the beginning of the night just lying there, which ought to count for something.

All in all, I'm feeling surprisingly perky today, which is good since I had quite a few errands to run. First item on the agenda: get my glasses fixed. I am, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, blind as a bat. Blinder, since at least bats have radar which I assure you I do not. Anyway, Sunday night when I went to put on my glasses after taking out my contacts, the right lens just fell right out: clattered to the bathroom counter, bounced once, hit the floor and generally startled the bejeesus out of me. It turns out that the minuscule screw that holds the lens in the frame had fallen out. Luckily, the lens didn't break, we found the screw clinging to a bead of water in the sink, and Elvis screwed it back in for me, but it was very much a temporary solution and needed to be fixed properly. Legally blind people cannot afford to be devoid of glasses, even if they do prefer to wear their contacts.

So yesterday I walked down to the opticians after my monthly purgatorial visit to the post office to pay bills. I've been planning to go anyway, since I'm running low on spare contact lenses and wanted to buy some more. Which would have been the end of the matter if I had actually managed to bring my glasses with me. Which, of course, I didn't. Rather counter-productive, that. I even forgot to buy more contacts.

The whole matter gained added urgency today because I managed to wake up with my right eye spackled shut with hardened, rather unattractive, green mucus. Unlike the insomnia, this was not unexpected, since my eye spent most of yesterday being red and nasty looking and generally oozing all over the place. All night long as well, which might go some way toward explaining why I was having problems in the sleeping department. By morning, aside from the lids being glued together, everything was swollen and it was clear that there was some sort of infection going on. Sticking a contact lens in there was pretty much out of the question.

So, to recap: infected eye, unable to wear contacts, dodgy and unstable spectacles. What could be better?

Why, rain, of course! Lashings of it, from a stormy sky colored charcoal grey to suit my mood. And how about a nice brisk wind to go with it? There's nothing like horizontal rain to make your glasses spattered and useless, no matter how big the umbrella. In fact, rain like that pretty much makes an umbrella-- any umbrella-- useless as well.

I put it off as long as possible, but in the end I had to go out. And it was OK. Really. By the time I did leave, the rain was starting to taper off, and I took the bus downtown instead of walking, and it was all good; at the very least, better than I had a right to expect. I even managed to get a fresh supply of contact lenses for when I can wear them again (I threw out my current pair last night-- better safe than sorry).

Hopefully, that day wil be tomorrow. The ooze is down to a bare trickle, the swelling is just about gone, and they redness has faded to a pale pink with subtle red accents. I'm guessing that I just scratched they eyeball slightly, or possibly touched it with some sort of irritant on my fingertip. Either of which beats the hell out of pink-eye, which is no picnic. Even so, I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I don't have a relapse.

Right now, I'm in the pub, writing on my PDA with my funky, fold-up keyboard. I came here on my way home from my tour of the optician, the photo shop, the pharmacy and the grocery store, given that my day so far has taught me that I am not to be trusted with internet access or an available VCR. Thank God that I was able to resist the DVDs. And, you know, it's still raining, which is a damn fine justification all by itself. I suppose I could come here every afternoon if I wanted but, believe it or not, I don't. Maybe I should. It's nice here. I'm tucked into a corner, at a table that is miraculously just about the right height, and there is an equally miraculous electrical outlet on the wall by my feet. The handy ledge running along the wall just above the table is currently holding the ashtray, my notebook and, more recently, a small candle. The stereo is playing Norah Jones and Dire Straits at an unobtrusive background level, and my pals at the bar bring me a fresh pint of Guiness with the merest of waves. I've only just started my second one, mind you, but I could easily have gotten more. Easily.

I like it here.

Coming to the pub was a fine idea, if I do say so myself. The usual suspects are at the bar, talking the usual rubbish. They are surprisingly easy to block out, and I was doing so until just a few minutes ago. Somebody, apparently, looks like Pippen during his Metallica phase. Yes, that Pippen. I never suspected that hobbits went through Metallica phases, and the very idea of a goth hobbit (also discussed) boggles the mind. They were talking about Harry Potter a few minutes ago. I wasn't really paying attention to what they were saying then, and I'm beginning to suspect that it's just as well. As is, I have a persistent vision of wholesome young Harry done up as Marilyn Manson that doesn't bear thinking about, and I truly wish that it would go away.

I've accomplished quite a bit today, and I think it's high time I go and join them. Before I do, however, I'll leave you with this priceless morsel of pub wisdom:

"That's the way to a man's heart, you know." The man speaking nods sagely, and rubs his stomach as he emits a quiet belch.

The girl who is his audience manages to look both bemused and justifiably skeptical. "What is?"

"Bribe him."