The Gift Of Sight

God knows I am not a particularly prideful individual. As much as I make fun of others, it'd be hypocritical to stand too haughty. However, one caveat I maintain on The Smoking Gun: no pics of me with my reading glasses.

Obviously, it will come as a great surprise, cool cats, that I'm a bit past my 20s, and as a writer focused on a computer screen for 10-15 hours a day, my eyes hastily and progressively lost their acuity once I reached 40. I remember going to the eye doctor, saying, "Doc, I'm convinced I have a brain tumor." His response: "How old are you?" Answer: "41." "I've got bad news. It's not a brain tumor."

So for the past several years, I've been chained to reading glasses, ever increasing their strength to make out prices in the grocery store, words in a newspaper, the computer screen before me.

Thankfully, despite being unemployed, COBRA insurance offers eye coverage, which I've not taken advantage of in a decade. Last week, I arranged an eye appointment with the intent of getting contacts—which, 15 years ago, I wore for driving, but in NYC, that seemed irrelevant since I don't have a car, so I shed them.

Now, of course, I can't see shit and hoped contacts might allow me to shed these annoying specs. Holy shit! Talk about a miracle. First pair last week, a failure. New pair today, a new lease on sight. Tonight I went out for the first time in a decade sans the granny glasses. And I saw the light. Clearly. This is better than Viagra. Praise be to technology. Once I get acclimated to these babies, I'll be able to leave them in for weeks at a time, sleep in them, see the clock when I awake... and feel like a 20-something. Sorta. I'll take what I can get.