My vision is whack.
I’ve worn glasses ever since I can remember. Grade school I think. Some of those old pictures aren’t fit for human eyes.
But here’s one anyway.
I wear contacts now. I got them when I was a senior in high school. I had no problem breaking them in. I wanted them.
I really wanted them.
I sometimes even forget and fall asleep with them in.
I still wear the old kind. Hard. Gas permeable. My doctor tried to convert me to the soft ones a few years back. I tried. Sort of. I hate touching my eye. (Though I don’t mind manipulating or digging “lost” contacts out of the corner of my eyeball.)
I like the old ones. I like the old ways better.
Today I wear monovision contacts. Doctor told me I had them mixed up one day. But he said that was a good thing, too, because it meant I tolerated them so well. I guess not everyone does. Now I try to remember that “read is right.” I close my left eye to see if I can read with my right eye. If not, I switch.
I always get in trouble for wearing them too long. Sometimes I fudge when he asks.
Or is that lying?
I do have “backup” glasses.
I hate them.
I had a plank in my eye once. Felt like it anyway. Turned out to be a metal sliver. Don’t know where it came from. Doc removed it (didn’t hurt a bit), and I had to wear glasses until it healed.
Dust and pollen feel like boulders. And make me cry. And make my mascara run. And it’s worth it.
I have two pairs of glasses.
One is a pair of bifocals. Yes. Sigh.
The optometric assistant talked me into the frames.
I hate them. (The glasses. The frames are okay. Dennis hates those.)
But now they’re “too strong.”
The other pair is for computer work. I wear them the most. I can see well enough around the house with them. Not well enough to drive.
I hate them, too.
And now I have to take them off to read.
Glasses smear and fog up. And Gary (the too-old-for-me neighbor boy) used to love to lick two fingers and smudge the lenses. I didn’t care, though. At least he was paying attention to me.
I can’t see with them. I can’t see without them.
I need to fill a new contact prescription, too. And then get prescription sunglasses. Because contacts and beaches don’t go well together.
Which reminds me. There’s a contact somewhere in Lake Michigan sand.
If they ever tell me I can no longer wear contacts, I’ll ride a banana peel to the nearest LASIK center.
Because my vision is whack.
Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Heska King