by Donna Andrews of the Femmes Fatales.
From where I was sitting, last week was a pretty crappy week in the universe, in spite of the Olympics, which I'm not watching for reasons that aren't entirely the Olympics' fault. I'm not going to elaborate on the crappiness of last week for a few reasons--one is that we'd get into politics, and I'm not big on arguing politics on the Internet, even if I thought it would change anyone's mind, which it never does. And another is that I can't possibly be as eloquent as the Parkland students—like my librarian friend Chris Wiegard's niece, Emma Gonzalez. Google her. And besides, if you didn't think last week was a pretty crappy week in the universe, I want to know what universe you're in (and how I can get an invitation).
About the only good thing I can say about the bad mojo permeating the universe last week is that it helped me see my own bad week with a bit more perspective. What started off as a pretty good week took a nosedive on Tuesday when, while I was visiting Mom at the assisted living, I realized I was having to push my glasses up on my face rather often.
I took them off and looked at them and realized, to my horror, that The Glasses were finally breaking.
Couple years ago while reading in bed I took off my glasses to have a good stretch . . . and then fell fast asleep, fully clothed, teeth unbrushed, bedside lamp still burning. All of which would have been merely laughable if I hadn't rolled over on my glasses and bent the hell out of them.
I'm pretty much helpless without glasses—I can see really well at a distance of about six or seven inches, but beyond that things get really fuzzy really fast. So having a working pair of glasses is necessity rather than a luxury.
To my dismay, I found that the slept-on glasses were unfixable and the company that made the frames had discontinued them. My eye doctor's office scoured the country, got hold of one of the last remaining frames, and eventually had me back in business—but I was understandably nervous about what would happen when time and wear eventually did in the new frames. So I ordered a new pair.
They never worked. They seemed fine when I put them on—maybe a little off, the way a new prescription often does. But the longer I wore them, the more off they felt, to the point that I was getting bad eyestrain headaches. I had them remade once and adjusted a dozen times—nothing worked. And I got tired of fussing with them, and I had deadlines, so I put them in a drawer, intending to deal with them when I had more time.
Big mistake. Because I never got around to it. So when The Glasses, the old standbys with their battered, discontinued frames, broke, I was left with the pretty new glasses that give me headaches.
I had them adjusted, which helped some, except that the adjustment that they think will prevent eyestrain has them jammed so close to my eyes that my eyelashes brush them, resulting in the need to clean them every five minutes or so, when all the gunk your eyelashes are designed to keep out of your eyes ends up on the inside of the lenses. And I've ordered a new pair. Maybe this pair is cursed.
Still, I lost most of Wednesday afternoon and evening to a hideous eyestrain-triggered headache. Stress doesn't help, either, and Wednesday was certainly stressful for anyone who was paying attention. Or maybe it was Thursday I lost completely. Last week's a blur.
I've muddled through. I've been resting my eyes a lot, listening to audiobooks while the eyestrain eases. I hunted down my computer glasses—a pair of specs optimized for the distance at which I use the computer or read a book. Haven't needed them in years, because with The Glasses, my eye doctor achieved such perfection that I could see the monitor just fine with them. Now, the computer specs are a part of my life again, at least for the time being. They let me read. They're not as good for watching television, so my curious lack of interest in the Olympics has been a blessing. (I also hear from friends who are watching that the television coverage is even more annoying than ever, so there's also that.)
And I met my quota for the week, although I didn't meet it Friday, the way I'm supposed to; I had to work over the weekend. I was focusing more on the suspenseful side of the book, rather than the funny side. I'll probably have to go back when I'm in a better mood, or at least have my new glasses in hand, and up the funny quotient. Most important, I've vowed that I'm not going to let being busy sidetrack the quest to get a pair of glasses that works as well as The Glasses did. If I'd persevered back when I first realized the new glasses were a problem, I wouldn't be in such dire straits now.
Problems you can't solve rarely go away. Sometimes they fester and grow, sometimes they lie waiting for a chance to come out and bite you. But ignoring them doesn't do a damn bit of good. Not an earth-shattering truth, but one I was relearning on several levels last week.
And now I'm going off to start on this week's quota.
Was it something in the stars? Last week was lousy for me, too, Donna. Despite the horrors of the Parkland school shooting, it does look like the angry kids have far more sense than their elders and may be able to lead us out of this mess.
My sympathies on the eye problem. The whole world is wonky until they're fixed.
Posted by: Elaine Viets | February 19, 2018 at 07:55 AM