Update the First: My Face. You notice from the artist's rendering that I am once again smiling. An unsmiling me was diagnosed with a case of neuritis after I wrote yesterday's post, and after one dose of a super-antinflammatory Bruce the Nerve Shark's gnawing on my face seems to already be decreasing. Or maybe it's just my imagination, because the good doctor did warn that the next course of treatment would be a drug of which the LESS SERIOUS side effects include (no, I'm not making this up) dizziness, drowsiness, weakness, tired feeling, nausea, diarrhea, constipation, blurred vision, headache, breast swelling, dry mouth, and loss of balance or coordination. No thanks, please.
I have a whole post swirling around in my head about pain, and how I deal with it. (Spoiler: Not well.)
Update the Second: Shoes. One of my lovely Facebook commenters mentioned that I had completely neglected to include one of the most important factors in choosing shoes, along with comfort and durability--the price. N. was absolutely correct in saying that paying $200 for a pair of shoes is insane. In fact, if I pay triple digits it had better be for footwear that pays for itself. I'm thinking of my trusty Danskos, which finally gave up the ghost after five years of being worn day after day, year after year. (Again, not kidding.) My opinion on how much one should pay for shoes is stuck in the 1970s, when $35 was a good number.
Enter Doc Martin.
This BBC (of course) series is one I had tried for a couple of episodes before, but I didn't really get into it while I still had Midsomer murderousness waiting in the wings. Now, after a binge that included three anti-inflammatory-enhanced episodes yesterday, I can't believe I didn't love it from the first.
This show has everything--quaint accents, gorgeous scenery, catchy background music, quirky characters, and the most misanthropic main character since House. In fact, Husband sat down to watch an episode with me and as I was trying to explain the plot he asked if Doc Martin wasn't really House Across the Pond. The difference, I told him, was that House was deep-down awful even when I wanted him to be good. Doc Martin is deep-down good.
Husband is now as hooked as I am (he says it's a good replacement for Corner Gas, the loss of which we are still mourning years later).
Thumbs way up and waggling for Doc Martin.