Wednesday, August 22, 2012

A Letter To My Right Eye...

Dear Right Eye:

I feel as if you and I aren't quite to me?

I thought we've typically had a strong relationship. It was always Left Eye and I who struggled. Like that time when I had a really tough time seeing with Left Eye?  And I lost color vision?  And it hurt really bad?  And once the dust settled, I acquired that little flock of black eye floaters that I affectionately refer to as "eye flies"?  Yeah. See, Left Eye and I? We've been through thick and thin, but we've settled our differences. The eye flies are kind of fun to watch when I'm bored. Not everyone can say they have 'built in entertainment'.

This recent turn of events troubles me, Right Eye. While the floating bubbles are an interesting shape with a slight hue of greenish blue on the outside and are more aesthetic than flies, the pain is something I could do without. Also something I could do without? The burning sensations. There shouldn't be pain where bubbles are involved. Just as 'hips don't lie', bubbles don't hurt. Seriously...

I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm thankful that you've allowed me to see clearly, albeit through tiny bubbles. This morning's sunrise was amazing, as were the many beautiful sights my Lord's skies displayed throughout the day. In return, I did my best to shield you behind sunglasses as a token of my deepest appreciation. I guess it's just that you're making it pretty difficult for me to work 8hrs/day on a computer screen with tiny letters and numbers...tiny letters and numbers that can't be enlarged...tiny letters and numbers approximately the size of the bubbles. And, because I'm working very hard to focus through the bubbles (and the pain and the burning), I'm exhausted. And my forehead hurts from squinting. And I'm pretty sure my boss thinks I'm ridiculous for dousing you with eye drops and using most of her tissues. And I'm ready for bed. And you're still burning. Still. Burning. Twisting. Squeezing. In my eye socket.

Hold on a minute.  Just as I finished that sentence, my son came to me to ask if I would read him a chapter from his book. Part of me wonders...could I exchange the reading for like, napping?  "Hey, bud!  Let's see how still we can lay!  Isn't this great?" Alas, I will shove the pain and optical inferno to the wayside.  He won't always want me to read with him, and I'll be darned if I allow you (or ms in any form) to stand in the way of my most important occupation: motherhood.

:::fighting the urge to swat at bubbles in vision::: least he's plenty old enough to correct me when I end up on the wrong line and wrong word, on account of how I'll be reading with Left Eye and closing the flaming, twisting, ball of hate ;-)

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