I spy my stye...

Not a day for writing. Not when you're dealing with a stye on your right eye that makes it difficult to focus. My left eye is not my strong one, but the right is a bit puffy and nagging at me so I cannot see, very well. I'm calling my ophthalmologist in the morning to see if he'll work me into his schedule. 

It's been years...hell, decades since the last time I had one. And that time I got an ointment to put over it to kill the infection. But right now eyedrops are only barely doing anything. Warm compresses have helped, however.

So what did I do instead, on Easter Sunday? I cleaned my stove. I was baking a casserole and it overflowed, making the oven smoke enough to set off the smoke alarm. Had to slam the windows open, get the fans going and punch the mute button three times to make it stop before the fire department was called. Talk about a comment about my cooking...

So the smoke is cleared out. Laundry done. Dishes washed. Casserole partially eaten. And nearly 3 hours spent cleaning the damn oven. That stuff was caked onto what I think was previous dinners' remains from before I moved in, it was so damn thick and crusty. Used two whole Brillo pads and every paper towel in my apartment to complete it.

I'd never paid attention to the base of the oven, before. When I baked something, it was no issue. Never even looked at it. But now it's clean. And my hands are raw. And my back is not happy.

But...I think I have an idea of what to do about Brendan's emotional turmoil over the waitress' murder. Currently, he talks about it with Everett on the phone. That's getting cut. I like it, but it's muting his relapse. I might be able to put it later, but at this point in the story he is having a visceral reaction to what's happened and is cutting himself off from everyone.

Maybe his talk with Everett is what begins to bring him back...