Post #300
What do you write about when your mind is completely blank? (I typed "bland" at first, instead of "blank." "Bland" would work there though: "What do you write about when your mind is completely bland?" Yeah, so, either way the question is valid)
I'm staring at the screen here; my fingers are the only body parts on me that are fully awake, so I guess they are doing the talking here. Turns out fingers don't have much to say, do they? Except that they can come up with new ways of expressing questions (see above). Poor fingers. Apparently they don't mind (because they don't have minds?) my bad-talking them, because they keep typing this little slur against them. They haven't risen up in revolt, banded together, and slapped my face. They haven't even picked a finger representative to stand up and shake at me. Nope. Mindless fingers.
Really, I'm not quite awake. I went to bed too late last night and got up too early. And then I fell back asleep and had a dream that when you wake up from it, you are so grateful you want to cry, even though you are still super tired. You would like to go back to sleep again, but are afraid that the dream will continue and you would rather lurch zombie-like around the house, squinting to read the newspaper because your eyes haven't gotten with the program of being awake yet, and wondering if your daughter actually made it to the bus stop.
So, Post #300. Nothing. No celebration. I post too much to make each milestone number a special event.
Thankitude: I'd post that I'm thankful for my husband, but I want to save that for next week. So know that I am grateful for him more than I am grateful for what I post about today. Not that I'm going in any particular order. Today, on a day when my eyes are refusing to conform to waking hours, I am thankful for glasses. Spectacles. The pieces of highly polished, slightly curved, too thick to be cool, source of teasing, glasses. They get dirty all to quickly, hold fingerprints like Linus holds his blanket, and press against my nose, making indentations that take hours to disappear. Glasses that have aided me since 2nd grade to appreciate every leaf on a tree, helped me count my children at a distance, helped me engage in my favorite pastime ever--reading. Glasses (even bifocals during those atropine years--those years of eye drops and the bad taste in the back of my throat, the ever present threat of eyesight that could get so bad, no amount of curved glass in front of them would help) and now contact lenses (which bring their own set of irritation and fussiness) have aided in my sensory experience of life. I like seeing color. I like seeing kites in the air, and clouds in the sky. I like being able to size up a person (although I'm usually wrong at first glance) from 6, 10, 50 feet away. So wake up, eyes, and get to appreciating our friend, my glasses!
I'm staring at the screen here; my fingers are the only body parts on me that are fully awake, so I guess they are doing the talking here. Turns out fingers don't have much to say, do they? Except that they can come up with new ways of expressing questions (see above). Poor fingers. Apparently they don't mind (because they don't have minds?) my bad-talking them, because they keep typing this little slur against them. They haven't risen up in revolt, banded together, and slapped my face. They haven't even picked a finger representative to stand up and shake at me. Nope. Mindless fingers.
Really, I'm not quite awake. I went to bed too late last night and got up too early. And then I fell back asleep and had a dream that when you wake up from it, you are so grateful you want to cry, even though you are still super tired. You would like to go back to sleep again, but are afraid that the dream will continue and you would rather lurch zombie-like around the house, squinting to read the newspaper because your eyes haven't gotten with the program of being awake yet, and wondering if your daughter actually made it to the bus stop.
So, Post #300. Nothing. No celebration. I post too much to make each milestone number a special event.
Thankitude: I'd post that I'm thankful for my husband, but I want to save that for next week. So know that I am grateful for him more than I am grateful for what I post about today. Not that I'm going in any particular order. Today, on a day when my eyes are refusing to conform to waking hours, I am thankful for glasses. Spectacles. The pieces of highly polished, slightly curved, too thick to be cool, source of teasing, glasses. They get dirty all to quickly, hold fingerprints like Linus holds his blanket, and press against my nose, making indentations that take hours to disappear. Glasses that have aided me since 2nd grade to appreciate every leaf on a tree, helped me count my children at a distance, helped me engage in my favorite pastime ever--reading. Glasses (even bifocals during those atropine years--those years of eye drops and the bad taste in the back of my throat, the ever present threat of eyesight that could get so bad, no amount of curved glass in front of them would help) and now contact lenses (which bring their own set of irritation and fussiness) have aided in my sensory experience of life. I like seeing color. I like seeing kites in the air, and clouds in the sky. I like being able to size up a person (although I'm usually wrong at first glance) from 6, 10, 50 feet away. So wake up, eyes, and get to appreciating our friend, my glasses!
Comments
Also, are you saying that you had bifocals when you were young? Because I did--from third grade to sixth grade. I hope it helped, but I don't know if it did.
I don't know if the atropine (in eye drop form) I had to use worked. Eye docs I've been to since have said that the atropine experiment was a bust.