At the sound of Tinkerbell hysterically screaming, you should turn the page.
Hey, boys and girls. Welsome to the latest installment of Daily Crap I Come Up With, Often in the Shower. Just be glad that I only subject you to some of the shit I discover in there. A weaker man would weep or flee, you know, but I carry on. And I do it for you. No, really, you can thank me later. Really.
Anyway, I’m afraid that I don’t have a lot for you tonight. Oh, I’ve got some things that I could write about — don’t you worry, there, Skippy, I’m not running out of material any time soon — but I’m having a bit of a hard time seeing what I’m writing, so I don’t know how long I’ll keep it up tonight.
(The writing, the writing… man, you people are gross.)
You see, last night I washed a contact lens down the sink. Not on purpose, mind you. It was quite the unintended accident, in fact.
(I’m sure that having just returned from a ‘Johnnie Walker Journey of Taste’ event had nothing to do with this. Hell, I couldn’t see when I had my contacts in last night; no wonder I fumbled one down the drain.)
In any case, I’ve got some problems. You’d think I’d have gotten off my ass and gone to get new lenses after the last time this happened. That turned out to be a false alarm, as I eventually found the ‘lost’ lens. But still, you’d have to believe that it would shake me up and get me moving to prevent a more serious problem, now, wouldn’t you?
What, you would? Damn. Have I taught you people nothing in all these long months together?
Look, I’m a lazy bastard. I don’t know what else to tell you; there’s really no excuse. And certainly, nearly losing a contact lens did force me to make some changes. Why, almost every day since then, I would think, ‘Hey, you know, it might be a good idea to go to an optometrist… … … … tomorrow.‘ That’s a start, right? Apparently, no. Who knew that actual action was required to get something done? Somebody stop the presses.
So, you can imagine my chagrin when my right contact slipped off my finger and into the running water in the sink last night.
(But ‘Oho!‘, you might say. You know, if you’re the type of person who wants a kick in the privates for going around using words that haven’t been in play since Elizabethan times. But let’s just go with it, shall we?
‘Oho‘, I hear you saying. ‘Oho! It’s okay for the contact to fall in the sink, because surely you’ve pulled the plunger and sealed the drain with that little metal lever doodad. You did that, right?‘
And, well, yes, in a manner of speaking, I did. Of course, in another, very different manner of speaking, I noticed weeks ago that the plunger didn’t pull the drain stopper all the way down, leaving an eighth of an inch or so gap under which water could freely flow. And, as it turns out, a contact lens. I had really been meaning to fix that damned thing, too. I was sure I’d get to it… … … … tomorrow. Are you sensing a pattern here?)
So, I woke up this morning and put in my one lens and tried to get along as best I could without any shred of depth perception whatsoever. Brushing my teeth was an adventure, let me tell you. I now have the minty-freshest nose hairs on my block. (Or so I assume; it’s not like I went up and down the street to check, for Chrissakes. Even unemployed, I don’t have that kind of time, you know.) I won’t even go into the problems I had picking up the dog’s poop during our walk. Trust me, you’re better off not knowing, okay?
But of course, the hardest task I faced was driving to LensCrafters to (finally) look into — or at least squint in the general direction of — a new pair of contacts. And yes, I drove, despite my best judgement. My only other option was to take a bus that I’ve never taken before to a train to another train. You can see how dangerous that could become for a man of limited vision, I hope. The things I could have sat in, or stepped in, or ended up talking to — I can’t bear to even think about it. Better that I should risk my life and others trying to pilot my car crosstown in the midst of lunch traffic. Oh yes, folks, I make good decisions. Only the best for me, baby.
Anyway, I did eventually show up at the local LensCrafters establishment. And I made it in one piece, too, thank you very little. I suppose I do get marks off for parking in the Burger King drivethrough, and for chatting with a mailbox for ten minutes before realizing it wasn’t a short fat mute guy in a blue suit, after all. (Hey, how the hell was I to know? It’s an honest mistake.) But I got there, and had my eye exam, and ordered contact lenses all in the same day. They even gave me a nifty new replacement lens, so I could get home without fear of committing accidental vehicular homocide. Which is a good thing; when I smear some dickhead all over my windshield at forty miles an hour, I want to mean it, dammit! I wanna stick my premeditated foot all up in their ass. Hell, yeah!
In any event, I can sort of see now. But it’s not perfect, by any means. For one thing, the replacement lens is a soft contact, while my old one in the other eye is ‘gas permeable’. For those of you under the age of thirty or so, these ‘gas-perms’ used to be the only thing we astigmatism sufferers could wear. I got into ’em, and I never bothered to drag myself screaming into the ’90’s and move on to soft lenses. Now I think I’m the only goon left toting these little pieces of glass around in my eyes, so they didn’t have any replacements on hand for me to take. Just the softies, which take a little getting used to. Plus, the prescription on the soft lens isn’t quite right, so I’m still pretty fuzzy around the edges.
(Which is always true, of course, but now everything else is fuzzy, too, so I fit right in. Sweet! Now I just need to fuck up everybody’s vision, and I’ll be golden.)
What I’m trying to say is that writing tonight is a bit rough. I’m not really used to my new lens yet, and it’s not quite what I need. Meanwhile, my old lens in the other eye is about three prescriptions too old, so it’s not doing me a helluva lot of good, either. I can more or less make out what I’m typing, but it’s all pretty blurry unless I blink a lot. On the other hand, it doesn’t seem to make any less sense than usual, even with the fuzzyness. So that’s good, I guess.
(Or it’s constantly really, really bad. No, really, I don’t need to know which. No, please. Really.)
And so, I think I’ll sign off for the night. I’ve got to get up a bit early — got a health screening at my new employer’s tomorrow morning — and it’ll take me a while to get to bed, I have a feeling. These soft contacts don’t come out by just squeezing your eyelids closed with your finger, like the gas permeables do. No. These little bastards require you to physically stick your finger in your eye, and pull the thing off. I did it once at the store, on about the eleventh try, so I have a feeling that I’ll still be up for a couple more hours. Bitches!
So, I’ll bid you a hearty good night.
(It doesn’t have to be ‘hearty’, of course. It can be ‘livery’, or ‘spleeny’, or whatever you like. Hell, it can even be a ‘genitalia-y good night’, if you happen to be gettin’ your freak on right now. Go get ’em, tiger!
Although… isn’t it a little weird to be playing Slappity-Slap-Ass while you’re reading this blog? I’m not sure what turns you on, but man, if this is it, you may have some serious issues. Unless you’re a hot chick, of course. In that case, you can send me pictures. It’ll be our little secret. Shhhhh.)
Seriously, I’m going now. I’ve had enough. Just let all of this be a lesson to you, would you? If you’re procrastinating about something now — changing jobs, buying a house, that organ transplant you’ve always wanted — then for spoot’s sake, go do it now. If you wait until the situation becomes critical, it’s gonna be a much bigger pain in the ass. So go on — get something taken care of, all right? Mark an item off your ‘To Do List’. You’ll feel better, and hopefully, you’ll even keep your eyesight intact, and won’t be forced to stick your finger in your own eyes at any point. in the process. Unlike me. Dammit.
So there you have it. I’ll be semi-blind for a few days until the contacts come in, but I’ll try to keep you entertained in the meantime. And I expect you to un-procrastinate about something before they’re ready, too. Yeah, that seems all symbolic and shit; I’ll go with that. So let me know what you plan to do, or better yet, what you’ve actually accomplished after reading this cautionary tale of woe and despair.
Hell, if you can’t think of anything else to do, you can pledge to read through my whole archives, or my 101 Posts About Me. But good luck getting done before the contacts come in. That shit is long! Or at least, it used to be. I’m pretty sure it’s all still there, but I really can’t see it right now to be sure. Oh, why did I wait until disaster struck? Will this hellish nightmare never end?!?Permalink | No Comments