Friday, December 7, 2012
Contacts, I Hate You! Part 4 (Or Why I'm Still Bitter I'm The Only One In My Family With Bad Vision)
Like nearly everyone and their dog, last night I went to go see the Christmas lights at temple square. They're seriously beautiful. No matter if you are LDS, Jewish, Baptist, or belong to some denomination that believes in the Jedi Force, you should see them. They're breathtaking. Also, you should stop by City Creek too, they've got an unexpected and awesome fire/water fountain thing synchronized to Carol of the Bells. Now, in order to see these things, and not have to wear my glasses around all night, I figured this was a perfect opportunity to bust out the contacts.
I got everything set up. I mentally prepped myself. Positive self-talk, snacks, inspirational music, the works. Things went relatively smoothly. It only took about 45 attempts and 20 minutes. Then, I started putting on eyeliner. Probably as a result of aiming my index finger directly towards my eye over and over again, I somehow ended up poking myself in the eye with the stick. Leaving a big black mark in the middle of the contact. Meaning, I got to start the dance all over again.
45 minutes later, contacts in, and makeup on, I ran to the window to see the sun setting. Who knew there were so many clouds in the sky? So many leaves still in the trees? So many blades of grass? It's just sad.
I'll be honest, nearly every guy I've dated since getting contacts thinks it's hilarious that I struggle so much with putting them on. A recent fellow even made a snarky joke, with somewhat of a mean undercurrent about my other life abilities. What a riot (p.s. we didn't last long). Also, I think nearly every roommate I've ever had wears contacts and can manage them fine. In fact, I'm pretty sure they could simultaneously put in contacts, scrapbook, knit, and cook an intricate meal with ease.
I get that about 98% of the human population is evolutionarily superior to me because either A. They have perfect vision (like that guy at institute who could see details on a quarter across the chapel. Anyone in the Sandy Institute knows what I'm talking about. WTH?) or B. They can put in a dang contact. I swear, I can do hard things. Once I wrote a 25 page research paper on handwashing! Hand. Washing. I can get the malditos contacts on my eye, and take them out, but the process takes the better part of my evening. And often involves tears. And anger. And sadness. And then triumph, when I finally hear that squeegee sound of the lens stuck to my eye.
I think there should be a support group for people like me. It gets better. I hope.
For more on my journey:
Curse you, Bryant Milesi!