The shower continues to be the bane of my existence. We spent an hour and a half cleaning grout off the tiles, the floor, the tub, the sink and ourselves. I had to endure another bath before bed and we hit the sack at about 12:30. While winding down for the evening after cleaning up I noticed that I had unfamiliar pricking pain in my right eye, which steadily got worse and worse until it was 3 am and I was in the bathroom sobbing because it felt like there was a shard of glass in the damn thing.
Dave, faithful husband that he is, poked around in my eye for a while and determined that we should go to the hospital and let them use their magical eye-flushing machine to fix me.
The nurse directed us to what she called the 'eye room' which I noticed had a drawer labeled 'circumcision supplies' and a box marked 'umbilical cord cutters'.
I sighed and reminded myself that I live in a small town with a small hospital.
The doc squeezed all kinds of foreign material into my eye, turning it a bright shade of orange and effectively numbing the pain - for a while. As it turned out I had somehow managed to scratch my pupil. I'm convinced that the godforsaken pit of despair in my bathroom spit grout in my eye at some point.
We got home from the hospital at 4:30 and at 10:00 I arrived at work exhausted and squinty-eyed. Vampirishly sensitive to sunlight, I immediately closed all the blinds on the south-facing, floor to ceiling, wall-to-wall windows that pour sunlight in all day long, put up a barrier between my line of vision and the glass door and hunched over my computer to work.
As long as I stay away from garlic and crucifixes I'll be fine.