I’m not sure if anyone follows my boring ass twitter but if you do you may have noticed the past few have involved panic and blindness! Yay!
Well, I may not be going blind, I just managed to scratch my cornea right across the pupil and irritate both eyes. The ER doctor I ended up seeing didn’t really address my weeping terror about the intolerance to light but hey, what’s the ER for if not to charge you a bitchload of money for half answers and increased trepidation?
And did I mention the weeping? Oh ho ho! The second the doctor tried putting drops in my eye I went a big nursie and started to sob big fat bitch tears. You know when a two year old puts his quarter in the gumball machine and gets the green one when he really wanted the blue? And then begins crying inconsolably? Like that but with a grown woman doing it.
So anyway we find out that the right eye has an abrasion and he dilates it and I somehow get outside to call a cab. Which wouldn’t have happened had Mark not been with me. If I’d been by myself I’d have tried climbing into a strangers car thinking it was a cab or wandered down into the hospital basement to die of starvation.
While waiting for the cab to arrive I helpfully sat down on a wet bench and began crying again. Then I cried more in the cab and halfway through an omlete at breakfast.
Now I really wish this wasn’t my reaction to anything remotely threatening. I should have at least secured a positive diagnosis of inevitable blindness from a few different healthcare professionals before starting the waterworks. I come from swedish stock and we are a race of people who look like mashed potatoes slathered in butter. I don’t know why that is. I suppose we all have our genetic crosses to bear.
Anyway what I’m trying to say is that watching me cry (And some of you know this personally.) is a revolting thing. I turn into a gushing wad of chewed cinnamon gum, red and swollen, and begin emitting alllll sorts of fluids from my facial orifices: Snot, tears, drool… maybe some new stuff science doesn’t even know about yet. But even worse than all of that is the sounds that come out of me.
It’s…It’s just awful. I have only two modes which seem to be ‘Not Crying’ and ‘Amy Winehouse’. I wish I could just cry gracefully, like Natalie Portman in every movie she’s ever been in. One glistening tear, a slight puffiness of the eyes and then I would bite my lip and my lipstick would stay perfectly in place.
But in addition to the pathetic public breakdown the ocular ordeal would deliver another swift kick to the genitals of my dignity by making it so uncomfortable to keep my eyes open that I would have to wear sunglasses into work. at night. over my regular glasses.
Which looks really, really dumb. And I have to suffer for a long time before I am willing to make myself look dumb knowingly. It generally happens so often without my participation that I just try to avoid dumb lookingness that I have control over but not this time. This time desk lamps were my mortal enemy and all I had to fight that enemy were five dollar sunglasses from the liquor store.
Here: Why not show you some helpful visuals?
“Did you just get your eyes dilated?” asked a dude who checked in at 2 AM.
“One of them.” I said and swiped his credit card. Or at least I hope it was his credit card. It could have been one of those cards they give you at the ice cream place, You know, where after 8 stamps you get a free cone? I don’t know. I couldn’t see shit.
God I hope not… if it was I’m gong to be in trouble later…