The Story of Gravy on Ice Cream Draped in Cyanide

Post CCC

Here’s the story of Smurfing oneself, my glasses (again), and parachute pants.

If I turn anymore blue, I swear to God I’m gonna start to resemble a Smurf. I’m not kidding, either. I woke up this week with the tops of my arms a grey-blue colour. The next day, my armpits had joined the blue revolution. And then, to top it all off, my nipples turned a similar shade. I was really starting to panic. All kinds of dark thoughts entered my mind. I’d never experienced anything quite like it. I first ran with the theory that it was a bruise of some kind. I then recalled I woke up recently asleep on both my arms, going so numb I couldn’t really move. Jesus, what if it’s a blood clot! What if it’s a new disease! I don’t want a new disease named after me! A new type of bacon, certainly. My worry grew so great I was struggling to breathe. I decided to have a shower to cool down. Funny thing, when I came out, I wasn’t blue anymore. In retrospect, it was fairly obvious the dye coming off a blue shirt mum had just bought me was to blame…

But that’s not important. Nor is it important that mum bought me some new jeans later on that had a similar blueing effect making me more Smurf than man. No, the elephant in the room is that I shouldn’t be writing this now. Yes, if this post appears more gibberish than usual, I would like to apologise. You see, I am completely blind. I cannot see a goddamn thing. I had these drops put in my eyes on Friday that made my pupils turn so damn large I look like I should be an extra in Trainspotting….

It does mean I am attempting to write this with sunglasses on in a really dark room, and these are no ordinary sunglasses. Actually, they are. The optometrists won’t let me wear my prescription sunglasses. Also, I don’t actually own any prescription sunglasses. So we had to find some non-prescription sunglasses in a house where all the occupants wear glasses. The only pair we could find belongs to my dad and he bought them in 1973. No, they’re no Aviators, but very Miami Vice. That’s a reference for the kids.

If the thought of somebody having a shave in the nude wearing sunglasses amuses you, may I remind you that I am in the most agonising pain imaginable. I cannot describe to you how large my pupils are. I can see my own face in them, for heaven’s sake. Lights really have never been brighter. And everything is really blurry, too. I’m not particularly enjoying my Easter, if I’m being honest. I’m pretty damn miserable. And the worst part is that it’s the best shave I’ve had in years…

You might be wondering why I’ve put myself through such misery and pain. It’s an excellent question. I know it’s become a tired old trope, but in case you’re new here, I very much see my glasses, and I’m not understating this, as the devil incarnate. The biggest shit heap imaginable. Pure gravy on ice cream draped in cyanide. Ooh, that’s the title sorted. That’s nice. Normally takes me about an hour to come up with that…

The point is, they’ve spent 12 years making my life a living hell. Migraine after migraine. Headache after headache. Four hours to clean five times a week. Weird eye swirls and chants of ‘specky twat’ from strangers on the street. Admittedly, without them, I’m sure those strangers would find something else to have a go at me for, but I’d rather that than be defined by something I have no control over. My terrible dress sense. Oh, I have control over that? No, I don’t. Poor eyesight isn’t the only sense I’m lacking. Fashion sense, too.

I know it crippled me last time, but I decided to go for the laser surgery again. Well, actually, mum and dad did. They know how unbelievably angry my glasses make me. Stressed out and as violent as parachute pants. That’s another reference for the kids.

So I get in from work and they want to have a chat with me. That never happens. I suspected it was bad news. We’ve sold all your valuable old toys, we’re kicking you out, you’re adopted, things like that. They’d actually booked me a free consultation to see if I could have the laser surgery or lens replacement. I’m not ashamed to admit it, I did have a little cry that night. You will never understand just how much glasses have destroyed my life. How miserable they make me. How much I hate them with a passion equivalent only to my hatred of ‘70s sunglasses. My glasses have upset me so much I’ve broken down in tears over them on numerous occasions. And I have tried, time and time and time again to get laser surgery, and not once would they let me have it. And I’m not allowed contacts because my prescription is so powerful. It destroyed me last time I was told I couldn’t have the surgery. I broke down in tears and wasn’t my old self for weeks. So what about this time?

I’m having it. I’LL BE ABLE TO SEE AGAIN! It’s an Easter miracle!

It’s somewhat ironic that, at the moment, I can’t see. The consultant optometrist, a lovely Irish chap, had to put these drops in that have, effectively, made me blind. “Well, worse case, you won’t be able to see for four days. But most people get their vision back within a couple hours.” 48 hours later, let me tell you this: I’m the special case. The one in a million  who STILL CAN’T BLOODY SEE TWO BLOODY DAYS LATER! I had to have a shower with the light off! I have no idea what I washed my goolies with! It felt nice, though…

I couldn’t believe it when he said I was a ‘perfect candidate.’ Look, I know it’s gonna cost around four grand, but in an average lifetime, I would spent anywhere from 20 to 30 grand on eye operations, eye treatments, glasses, etcetera. I’ve already spent somewhere in the region of five to 10 grand in just 12 bloody years. I need that many bloody new glasses every year because my prescription changes so damn much I’m practically bankrupt. It’s a drop the ocean, four grand. There was a 95-year-old in the newspaper the other day who has spent 50 grand on his bloody eyes! I deserve this! 12 years of misery! It’s the same technology NASA uses to correct their astronaut’s vision! That’s how to hook people like me into things like this! If it’s good enough for our brave men and women in space, fighting all those fantastical tentacled space beasts from beyond the Moon, to defend our precious Earth, then it’s good enough for me! That… that is what they’re doing up there, right? Right? Ha, next thing you’ll be telling me Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy never hooked up…

I can’t quite believe it’s real. I’m still expecting something to go wrong. Two weeks is all I have left with my glasses, at least until I turn 45 when I’ll need a pair of reading spectacles, but that’s fine because I don’t read books. I read the TV guide. Does… does that count as a book? Hmm… anyway… such is life. I am terrified. Of course I am. It will be a long and often painful journey. Six months before I’ll be given the all clear. I mean, they say it’s a simple procedure, but… I’m still a little worried about someone cutting my eye open with a laser to make a flap, then firing a secondary laser at the back of my eye for a couple minutes, and I’m seriously worried about something the surgeon told me this morning regarding a strong burning smell I should expect. A STRONG BURNING SMELL! I wonder if it’ll smell of chicken…

Oh crap! I’ve just remembered I have to go to Easter Mass looking like Stevie Wonder!

That’s not good. That’s not good at all…

American comedian and violinist, Henny Youngman (1906-1998), once said: “If at first you don’t succeed… so much for skydiving.”

Peace Out :|:

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Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other blog:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday
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