I first noticed that I have the eyesight of an ninety-year-old man when I was twelve and couldn't read the homework assignment on the board. I copied it off a classmate. I sat in the second row.
When I was thirteen one of my teachers donated a cardboard box to my eyesight. I used it as a desk. Every time we had to copy notes from the board, I rummaged out of my seat to the front of the classroom and sat two feet from the whiteboard with the cardboard on my lap. Sometimes I fell asleep.
For the past few hours, my left eye has been more annoying than the bonkers hobo in San Francisco who sits on the sidewalk, wears sunglasses, and points a hairdryer at every person who passes him. The hairdryer isn't plugged in. He makes noises.
I took out both of my contacts, but my left eyeball still felt defective. I pulled out two halves of another contact. The second lens in my eye had been ripped in two. I have no idea how long it's been spinning around in there effecting my optics. It's like not knowing how you lost a tampon in your vagina. Five-year-olds are more superior with their lenses than I am.
The dad I au pair for is one of New Zealand's leading eye surgeons. He's told me he'll get Lasik eye surgery done on me as a thank-you. This is one motivation to stay.
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