no more ms. four eyes

I have a beard. Fine blond hairs along my jaw line that I didn't know were there. I have more wrinkles than I thought I had. My hair color is strange--kind of like a calico cat.

I've never really seen myself. Washing my face, brushing my teeth, applying make-up, even blow-drying my hair have all been done without my glasses and so I've only seen myself blurry, nearly airbrushed to perfection. No mas. Every flaw is magnified. Every flaw is magnificent.

I can't stop staring at myself in the mirror. Even with only one repaired eye, my vision is sharp. Just imagine what I'll be able to see with two good eyes. The stars...I can't wait to see the stars!

Lots of people undergo cataract surgery but I tell you, I had no idea what to expect. So if you are facing such a thing, here goes: It was a blast! The anesthesiologist is my favorite person in the world. He said he would knock me out for a few minutes so he could numb my eye then he'd wake me up for the surgery. He put the oxygen mask over my mouth and nose and the first thing I said when I woke was "Did you have to wake me? I love being knocked out." I floated in and out of the ten minute surgery. Every once in a while I would see a sort of pale golden light. I didn't know my face had been covered until they uncovered it. I got wheeled back to the place I had started from and was immediately wide awake.

The anesthesiologist asked, "How are you feeling?" and I said, "Fine but I think Dr. Andrews should talk more or at least say something now and then." He said he would pass that on to the surgeon.

The nurse and the brochure said that my eye would feel grainy, like there was sand in it. Shit. To me it felt like there was a giant hard contact lens in my eye and it hurt like hell. I was totally bummed when I went for my postop visit the next morning. The doc said my eye was pretty swollen but it looked fine. Thursday morning the eye felt great.

So tomorrow is eye number two and I am so looking forward to the surgery. On Thursday I will make a nine-hour drive to meet my daughter at the opposite corner of the state. Let's hope this eye undergoes a speedy recovery.

Wow. What a way to end 2008...with vision, with sight.

two eye surgeries, coming up

The other day I got measured for new eyeball lenses. It was a very strange procedure. I had to lie back in the chair while the tech inserted little water-filled cups into each eye. If I thought that was creepy and bizarre, I can only imagine how I'll feel about the surgery.

Romping around on the beach in Mexico without sunglasses caused a cataract in my left eye faster than you can say, well, cataract. It's one of the reasons I moved back to Arizona, to see if I could get on the public health program and get my eye taken care of.

I hadn't realized that cataract surgery would correct my vision and I really hoped that I could have both eyes done. Also, I had some choices: Did I want the free lenses the state would pay for which would allow me to see either near or far, or did I want to find $5,000 somewhere and go for the lenses that would correct for near, far, and intermediate? I've been wearing glasses since I was 8 years old. I've always wanted to lie under the stars and be able to see them. I want to ride on the back of a motorcycle without worrying that my expenses glasses will fly off my face. So I went for the free distance.

Even though people can get cataracts at any age -- two of the women in my writing group had cataract surgery in their thirties -- cataracts are mostly caused by old age and a degeneration of the lens. So it was quite fun to be in the surgeon's office and have everyone -- including the surgeon who is younger than my daughter -- say, "What's a youngster like you doing with cataracts?" They kept talking about how young I was. Hell, the only thing I thought I was too young for is Social Security and that's just barely.

So here's to happy seeing. Left eye this Tuesday; Right eye the next.

typist anyone?

So I had a transcription client this week.
My very own; not one through that agency I work for.

I decided to make up some business cards and spread them around town.

I'm thinking of leaving them at the courthouse, laundromat,
coffee shop, bookstore, Safeway, golf course, homeless shelter,
hospital, indigent health clinic, and all the saloons.

reaching the century mark

Every single person I know who has ever stopped smoking says that if they ever get a terminal illness or live to be 100, they're going to start smoking again. They say that with such longing that I think they better be careful...you know, that Law of Attraction stuff. "How badly do you want that cigarette, my dear? Well, here, have some pancreatic cancer."

If I get a terminal illness I've decided to become a drug addict.

I guess I've always been too responsible to get addicted to drugs. I know, I know, this coming from a woman who squandered her savings and lives in a trailer in a cemetery. But, really, I've done various drugs throughout my life and as much as I liked them, I always knew my limit.

The thing is, I'm a very uptight person and I'm tired of worrying about things that don't matter. I don't want to fret over things like my currently shitty hair cut. I don't want to beat myself up because I don't exercise enough. I don't necessarily want to be shooting up in some dark alley way. I can't do needles so I'm pretty safe from that. And meth makes people so ugly, I ain't going there. That leaves me with coke, served neat, with a xanax back. Mm-mm.

So if I live to be a hundred, look for me on that beach in Mexico. I'll be in a speeded up/slowed down rapture. I'll be secure and care-free. I'll have Mexican lovers half my age. I'll swim naked in the Sea of Cortez. I won't be afraid to try anything and if I drown while doing it, well, c'est la vie.

Ahhh, those were my middle-of-the-night musings. I guess I can achieve that rapturous state without drugs and before I'm 100 if I really work at it. But if not, I have something to look forward to. Like that last cigarette.

the pigs are back

Thanksgiving at my sister's was quite enjoyable. Great people--a very multi-cultural crowd--and great food. I took my Italian Amigo with me and it was good having someone along who was willing to make the long drive home.

Then I got sick. I wanted to get sick. I had no work and I knew that I was due for my yearly cold so I willed it and I got it. I curled up with a book (Kem Nunn, "Tapping the Source") and Nyquil which is fun to take during the day.

The Landlord is in Mexico and the New Tenant is away so it's just me at Fairhaven Cemetery. And is it dark and creepy down here at my corner. The neighbors must all be gone, too, as there are no porch lights across the way.

It was the noise that alerted me to their presence. I thought that a car with a bad exhaust system was idling next to my trailer but that's impossible. So I turned on my porch light and looked out my bedroom window and there they were. Over twenty javelina were walking around my trailer, cutting through the arroyo, then crossing the street. They had to cross the street in two groups because they had to wait for cars--and cars had to wait for them--so I had a lot of time to observe them. Some of the babies were really little and kind of cute.

So that's what a bunch of snorting javelina sound like: a busted muffler.

Now my cold is about gone and the jobs are starting to roll back in. Why are some things so easy to manifest while others...?