M. Giant's
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Monday, March 24, 2003  

My Eye

Today’s entry is going to come off as being a little bit on the experimental side. That’s because I can’t actually read what I’m writing. So “experimental” in this case actually means “lots of typos and misspellings. That’s the great thing about the word experimental. It can mean whatever yo want it to mean.

Earlier today, I had an eye appointment Ny glasses are getting so worn that I need new lenses, even though my prescription hasn’t changed much. Trash is in the sameboat, so we went together on what was supposed to be our lunch break. Only we forgot about the drops they put in your eyes that make them look like Evil Willow’s. That lunch break ended up being about two hours long, so it was kind of like being a CEO for a day. Granted, a CEO whose eyes don’t focus properly. So, yeah, it was pretty much exactly like being a CEO.

Except that CEOs prbably don’t have to put up with stuff like I did. After Trashwas done, she came into my examination room while the ophthalmologist was finishing up with me. I had my chin resting on the chin rest (because, really, what else am I going to put on something called a chin rest?) of some kind of face rack while the ophthalmologist peered through it into my brain. I was trying to keep my head completely still while fixing my gaze on the ophtalmologist’s earlobe as instructed. But in the dark room, without my glasses, I could see Trash in the background slowly leaning forward in her chair, lining herself up in my line of visoin and staring right back at me. That’s all, but it was about the funniest thing I’d seen all day. I couldn’t even see if she was making faces at me, but something abot her low-grade goofiness stuck me so funnny that I couldn’t keep from grinning. I figured the ophtlamologist must me almost finished counting my rods and cones, and I’d just have to go another couple of seconds. But those ticked by and I finally had to let out a giggle, not knowing if some sharp iron exploratory spar or retina-scorching laser was going to permanently blind me for abusing the chin rest. Normally I’m not one for “you had to be there” style humor, but I think it says something that I was nable to keep a straight face even at the risk of losing all depth perceptin for life.

Because I gotta tell you, permantly seeing the world the way I see it right now would kind of suck. I look back on this entry and all I see are blocks of grey text. Thet last paragraph looks a little long and I should probably break it up, but I’d just have to choose a random spot and I’d probably end up splitting a sentence in two.

I suppose I could type in a larger font or zoom in to 200% size, but that would violate the spirit of my little expeiment. Akso, it would require me to find the zoom and font buttons, and I think my ability to do that is still an hour or so off.

I will say that driving back to the office was a bit of an adventure. The drops they gave Trash were even stronger then the ones they gave me for some reason, so driving was out of the question for her. So I just maintined the largest possible traffic bubble for our car on the trip back, while Trash sat in the shotgun seat with her hands up but not extended, like Jim Breuer doing his dinosaur impression. It was like her instincts were telling her to compensate for her impaired vision by feeling for obstructions, even though she knew the only obstruction she was likely to encounter in that position was the passenger-side airbag. Meanwhile, bith of us were squinting through thiose dead sexy, vaguely eyeglass-shaped slices of tinted cellophane they give you so that stepping outside into the sun doesn’t make your eyes feel like this. Yes, driving to a place we were going to have to leave with with less-than-optimal optics was indeed poor planning on our part. But it gets worse.

Once we got back to Trash’s office, we had to sign the papers for our new mortgage.

You know what they say about signing papers you’ve never read. We figured we could suspend that rule, since we also couldn’t read our own signatures. It’s not as dumb as it sounds; Trash worked at the mortgage company for years, so she knew what everything said anyway. Her coworker, the notary who was witnessing our signatures (because God knows we werent’ in any shape to witness our own) pointed to where we needed to sign and initial: “More to the left…a little higher…there.” Without her, we would still be standing there, alternating between holding the papers at arms’ length and taking off our glasses and holding the papers at nose’s length. But between that and Trash’s knowledge of loan documentation, we were able to confidently grope for our pens and scratch out our names using muscle memory.

I don’t have a punchline today, and this blind typing is starting to give me a headache, so I’m going to stop now. It’s kind of abrupt, but it’s okay! It’s experimental!

posted by M. Giant
3:20 PM 0 comments


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