Thanks a lot Myopia... for ruining my day

It's 5:32 in the morning, which is not a totally unusual time for me to be up and at it. Usually it takes a certain amount of excitement or interest in what's going on to motivate my weary old body (yes, I'm getting up there) out of bed. Which was true this morning. Thursday mornings are for H.ammerhead swims. Yay! I love H.ammerhead swims. I get to get out into the germy-rash inducing waters of Hobe beach, dodge jelly fish, and stoke my ego because I can swim faster than 70 year old men, which is saying Something I think. I was getting ready to put on my zoot-suit. I'm so proud of that thing. Because they're normally very expensive, but I found mine in last season's clearance bin. I had my zoot in my hand, when I realized that there would be no swimming for me today. None at all. Because of my eyeballs.

I've been wearing glasses all week. I hate hate hate wearing glasses. The lenses bob around on my face and change the focus of things as I move around. I can't swim. I can't wear sunglasses. Worst of all, I have to endure people saying things like "Oh, I didn't know you wore glasses", or "New glasses! Those look great!" Which is nice, I guess, but I have to struggle to respond "Oooh thank you" while I bite my tongue and grumble grumble grumble because I'd like to say "I HATE wearing glasses!"

I've been doomed to glasses hell because I set up an appointment to do something about my eyeballs. I'm going to see the Lasik people to see if they would be able to cut part of my eyeball off and root around in there until it's better.

Last night I dreamed (or is it dreamt? I've never figured that out...) that I was in the doctor's office and he had handed me a schedule of events for my appointment. It included things like "D.A.R.E" and "Stock Market Time". No wonder I'm supposed leave a few hours for this damn thing. The doctor in my dream was a real jerk. He wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise, so I picked up my stuff. I had a lot of stuff in his office, like a change of clothes and a lunch and a raincoat, so it was quite dramatic when I packed up my things and headed to the door. He looked very confused and I said "I don't have time for your drug education or to listen to you talk about things that are not my eyeballs". He begged me to stay and promised that he would stay on topic, and thus reduce the time of the appointment to about an hour. I agreed, and we headed to the operating room.

The operating room, and the ante chambers leading up to it were more high school science lab from 1943 than actual sterile medical environments. The walls were lined with jars of formaldahyde with things floating in them. Dark topped tables with initials carved into them were set at regular intervals around the room. The sinks were full of garbage. Wait...this sounds an awful lot like the science lab I work in at my middle school...but I digress. In my dream, we donned some sort of plastic wrap head covering and shoe booties. The doctor turned the lights on in the room and then I realized that it was full of children preforming all sorts of Harry Potter type magic. You know, moving things around or changing the shape of clay without touching anything, looking at a globe that was spinning on its own. Stuff like that.

And then I woke up. Hope my actual appointment is a bit more high tech than this, and that there is no drug education.

Oh boy! The paper is finally here....