The Eyes Have It . . .

So, I've somehow managed to give myself an eye infection. Don't know how, but seeing as I spend every weekend blowing paint and God-knows-what-else into my eyes, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I should actually be surprised it hasn't happened sooner; I have been doing this for four years, and if my lungs are spotted all different colors from the airbrushing, I shudder to think about my eyes. So this weekend, per doctor's orders, I will not be able to wear my contacts. As a faery I tend not to see adults but this weekend it will be even worse than that: I'll be the blind faery, bumping into children and walking into trees, falling off of rocks and slipping out of every perch. You think I'm exaggerating, but I'm a negative 7 in my prescription, which is pretty bad; I've had glasses since I was in third grade. Unless I have a seeing-eye dog, things are definitely going to be interesting.

I went to the grocery store yesterday before getting home to put on my glasses; I can't imagine what the people in the store thought, seeing me bending over the produce and staring at the cilantro from three inches away, trying to find the good bunches to feed my rabbits. It's probably best we don't talk about how close I needed to get to the beef jerky in order to see the price; that's a private matter between me and Mr. Jerky.

I certainly take seeing for granted. I won't after this weekend; I just hope I don't end up seriously injuring anyone besides myself.