I wasn’t going to post today on account of me having to wake up at 6AM for morning practice tomorrow, but I just conveniently realized I’ve got a research assessment paper due in ~10 hours, so I mean, what’s the point, really? It’s not like I’m going to sleep anyway.
And I like staying up late. The late night is the universal time of delirious self-reflection. It’s when you sit back in your chair or sofa or bed and just think about stupid things. The night is free of judgment because every sensible person is probably sleeping, leaving me free to stare at nothing and realize how appreciative I am for the little things, like having two eyes instead of one.
I feel like that deserves a little clarification.
So Wednesday of last week, I started off my day at 6AM by almost pulling out my right eyeball.
Okay, that probably clarified nothing. Sorry. Take two.
I use this purple sucker (pictured below) to remove my contacts. You’re supposed to squeeze the thin part before attaching the suction cup to the lens, only what happened was I’d just skipped the squeezing and went straight to the sticking. When I pulled the sucker away, it felt like my entire eyeball went with it.
I let out a sound I can’t quite put into words but must’ve been something like “ouhahehAHHESHS” and clutched at my eyelid, dousing it with cool tap water. The pain subsided.
Around half an hour into morning practice, while walking outside, I blinked and felt a peculiar sensation.
Me: I think there’s something in my right eye.
Teammate: *looks* Like what? Dirt?
Me: A rock, probably.
Me: Or maybe a Cheeto. That seems poss—
Teammate: You’re FINE.
Ten minutes later, the eye began to sting. Blinking rapidly to clear my vision only hastened the tears. I proceeded through the entire rest of morning practice with a continual stream of tears running down one side of my face.
No one noticed. Although that may have been because I took considerable effort to only show the left side of my face, whether that meant circling around so I could always stand on the right or channeling my inner Phantom of the Opera and keeping a hand to my face for another half hour. Except I would’ve assumed that would have made it more obvious.
It didn’t get much better after school started. I continued to cry out of one eye as my Economics teacher lectured on the production possibilities curve. The pros and cons of income taxes saw me straight through a box of tissues. Then, discussion on the modern economy. I cried harder, but that one’s understandable.
By the time lunch came around, I had half-wept my way through inspirational quotes, mission statements, and a video of an 80-year-old man giving a birthday toast.
I headed to the nurse, having had enough. But the exact moment I walked through the door, my tear duct ran dry.
If I hadn’t been so relieved the pain had disappeared, I would’ve rolled my eyes. Because, of course, isn’t it only when you tell someone about a problem that it goes away?