The truth is...

I’d like to be all self-righteous and say I didn’t go to the Queensrÿche show with Ken tonight because I had work to do. But I can’t. The truth is, I didn’t go because I have defective eyeballs.

See, there’s a rally in San Diego tomorrow morning, and it made no sense for us to drive to Hollywood, drive home, and then have Ken need to turn around and leave four hours later. The only other option was to take two vehicles, and have him head south after the show while I came back home.

Except I can’t drive at night.

I mean, I can. Nobody’s told me I can’t. But I know just how poor my vision is at night (and at twilight, when it’s almost worse), how lights cause huge halos and half-blind me. It’s not just a case of not being able to read street signs. It’s a case of not being able to see if someone walked in front of the car. Coming home from the show Wednesday night, I couldn’t see the cement barrier in the middle of the freeway due to the oncoming headlights. (Oh, I knew it was there, and I could drive without hitting it, but still.)

So, I did the mature, adult thing and stayed home. Ken managed to sell my ticket, so at least we didn’t eat that cost.

But I hate doing the mature, adult thing. It sucks. Don’t wanna. ::stamps feet::

Now I should get some more work done, because then I can at least pretend to be a little self-righteous...