It’s my first day out and about, just me and the glasses, the glasses and me. I had to get a pair for reading and writing because the words were jumbling around, blurring and I was getting headaches… it was like being back at university during orientation week, but I was sober.
So… sitting in a café sipping on a soy mocha and writing, just me and the glasses, a combination that is less than 24 hours old. I put a picture up on Facebook last night, so my friends and family can recognise me while I’m reading or writing. But more likely for self-indulgent purposes, because I got comments like ‘hot librarian’.
The glasses are purely for the purpose of close up visual pleasure; like reading, writing and noticing how vibrant my veges were in my stir fry. Distance turns to fuzz, which is not helpful when I look up and daydream from my desk in an effort to conjure up more creativity or try and perve at the hot guy sitting across from me, over my coffee.
“Pretty ladies”, says the tot from down the communal table. I look to see which direction her comment is thrown in and can vaguely make out an arm pointing toward the kitchen. Cute, but not aimed at me. Should I put this on Facebook and get some sympathy?
I pick up a newspaper and read. I feel like I’ve instantly gained 20 years worth of wise.
The glasses have been on for around 40 minutes and my eyeballs feel like they need to be popped out of their sockets and tucked into bed. Or maybe I could just roll them around in my mug of mocha? This signals that it really is time to go. The eyes don’t lie, they can’t. They’re trapped behind glasses now, magnified to the world.