- Fade in on six year old D, wide eyed in the optometrist’s chair –

“You mean I get to wear glasses? Cool! Just like a movie star!”

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For some strange reason, my six year old self thought it would be quite a treat to have to wear glasses every moment of my seeing life. I can clearly remember playing with a pair of red plastic sunglasses before I got my real ones. I would pop out the tinted lens, stand on the chest in the living room and look into the mirror wondering who that handsome, intelligent looking, debonair six year-old was.

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- Skip twenty years to the future –

“You mean I can just shell out some cash and be rid of my cumbersome glasses for the better part of my active adult life? Cool! Just like a movie star!”

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And so, in a few hours, I will be sitting underneath a laser with my eyes pried open “A Clockwork Orange” style (without the benefit of slooshying any of that lovely Ludwig Van) waiting for that bright light to turn off so I can curl up into a little ball of light sensitivity and listen to books on tape for the rest of the week.

I am one of those people who abhor anything touching their eyes. When I tried to wear contacts (a failure due to the annoying dryness) I had to visit the eye doctor to take them out until I got the hang of it. But the mere notion that I will not be encumbered by these wire frames anymore is enough for me to quickly get over my silly fear. After all, your eyes are just a body part, like your hand, your nipple, or your teeth. And these people know what they are doing (I hope…).

So, I bid you adieu, blogosphere, until I emerge from my apartment, remove the cocoon of blankets keeping that annoying sunlight out, spread my eyes, and see everything (periphery and all) for the first time in twenty years.

Wish me luck.

D.

Posted by D. on Monday, May 29 at Monday, May 29, 2006 | Permalink