Ow! My Eye!
Dec. 17th, 2002 10:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
labrujahThere is something wrong with my right eye. A tiny twist in the contact lens, something that refuses to budge no matter how much saline I pour over it or how many times I rub it desperately.
On the subway to work I felt like Igor, leering maniacally at strangers as I continually poked myself in the eye, trying to find some relief.
An Addendum for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
olamina & cataplexy:
I was an ugly duckling child. Very skinny with big thick glasses sliding down my face (and a reclusive personality to match). When I was thirteen, I got contacts, and that summer the counselors at camp (not the campers, mind you) voted me "Prettiest Girl," a dubious award that the campers unanimously thought should have gone to a vivacious, popular brunette named Kelly, who had like three boyfriends in a month. I was taken aback. I had been many things in my thirteen years (a good speller, a caught shoplifter, a wearer of unicorn T-shirts), but never Prettiest Girl.
From then on I found it very difficult to wear glasses in public. They look cute on lots of girls I know, but as soon as I put mine on I become the painfully shy, cynical little girl I used to be.
In high school I caught some strange cold virus that extends itself into your eyes. It afflicted only one side. It made the veins bulge. It was hideous. Still I wouldn't wear the glasses. I preferred to go around listing, only seeing out of the good eye, and squinting all day, going home unbalanced and woozy. George, my favorite teacher, would yell "Are you stoned young lady? Don't smoke pot before class!" And I would be doubly chagrined, having never smoked pot at the advanced age of fifteen.
My eye feels better now actually.
On the subway to work I felt like Igor, leering maniacally at strangers as I continually poked myself in the eye, trying to find some relief.
An Addendum for
olamina & cataplexy:I was an ugly duckling child. Very skinny with big thick glasses sliding down my face (and a reclusive personality to match). When I was thirteen, I got contacts, and that summer the counselors at camp (not the campers, mind you) voted me "Prettiest Girl," a dubious award that the campers unanimously thought should have gone to a vivacious, popular brunette named Kelly, who had like three boyfriends in a month. I was taken aback. I had been many things in my thirteen years (a good speller, a caught shoplifter, a wearer of unicorn T-shirts), but never Prettiest Girl.
From then on I found it very difficult to wear glasses in public. They look cute on lots of girls I know, but as soon as I put mine on I become the painfully shy, cynical little girl I used to be.
In high school I caught some strange cold virus that extends itself into your eyes. It afflicted only one side. It made the veins bulge. It was hideous. Still I wouldn't wear the glasses. I preferred to go around listing, only seeing out of the good eye, and squinting all day, going home unbalanced and woozy. George, my favorite teacher, would yell "Are you stoned young lady? Don't smoke pot before class!" And I would be doubly chagrined, having never smoked pot at the advanced age of fifteen.
My eye feels better now actually.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ow! our eyes!
Date: 2002-12-17 08:22 am (UTC)-olamina & cataplexy
ahhh, i like, i like.
Date: 2002-12-17 09:56 am (UTC)no subject
I wasn't planning on bitching about the brief posting, but camille cares very deeply about these things. it was worth it.
I'm glad you're feeling better.
no subject
Date: 2002-12-17 01:08 pm (UTC)no subject