The Bonrackles of Discontent

Post CCCIII

Here’s the story of goggles, burglars, and doolally.

Is it normal to wear Speedo goggles in the shower? I think I look rather fetching in them, if you don’t mind. Desperate times call for desperate measures, readers. I’m not allowed to get water in my eyes after my eye surgery but I do need to shower. I have the hair of a hippy but certainly not the hygiene of one. You might think it’s not all bad missing one or two bathing sessions, and you may be right, but I can’t let water touch my eyeballs for a couple months, so I’m stuck with goggles. It was a bit awkward and… let’s face it, weird, but I’m in a nice habit, now. Flick my extremely long hair forward, goggle strap round the back, hair flipped back over, goggles down. I do really need a haircut. I worry, as I always have done, that the house could be burgled whilst I’m in the shower. I don’t want to die naked. But I have been wondering this week if it would be worse if a burglar caught me wearing Speedo goggles whilst in the shower or wearing Speedo pants whilst in the shower. Do let me know what you think. I’d go for Speedo pants, but that’s just me…

I’ve never worn swimming goggles before or indeed swimming pants because I can’t actually swim nor will you ever get me anywhere near a body of water. There’s not always a lifeguard on hand, although there was that one time I nearly drowned in the deep end of my local pool and a rather handsome young lady fished me out. At least I think she was a lifeguard. It was a bit hard to see. I had a lot of chlorine in my eyes.

I wonder what one should call swimming goggles if one isn’t actually swimming with them. I can’t call them regular goggles because regular goggles are what you use in science class when the teacher is blowing shit up. Along with a shield, of course, otherwise known as a door, of which I was often on the other side, cowering with discontent. Then again, we call wheels tyres and that word comes from attire alluding to the fact the wheels are the ‘clothing of the car,’ which is just mental, when you think about it. Quaint, too, I s’pose. I can just imagine those early tyre pioneers looking at their creation. “Aww, they’re like little shoes.” Awww, how dumb. If I ever get my mittens on a time machine, I’m going back to that day and I’m going to recommend a different name for tyres. I don’t know, erm… bonrackles. Why not? Give me a time machine doohickey, I’m gonna step on as many butterflies as I can. Just call me Mr. Trouble. Oh wait, don’t, that’s a terrible name…

As you’ve probably figured out by now, my eye surgery recovery took a turn for the worse this week and since then I’ve gone rather doolally. You see, I was fine on Sunday, and then on Monday I couldn’t really open my eyes. Red raw. Streaming. Bloodshot red. Stinging. I was in utter agony. Total misery. And I didn’t know why. I was fine the day before. As a result, I’ve spent most of my week tucked up in bed, in a ball, crying inconsolably. Which can’t help matters. Tears in my eyes. Tears are, basically, water. I’d need something other than goggles for that. Reverse goggles, perhaps. Yes. I am on a lot of medication.

It’s weird getting used to life after my glasses. It’ll probably take a couple months for everything to settle. My left eye is still really cloudy. Bright lights are deafening. The green and blue hues of the grass and the sky are vivid and heavily saturated. Things in the distance seem so much farther away. My eyes hurt. Sigh. All for the greater good, though. That’s what I keep telling myself, even though I don’t believe it…

This is a new life and it’s odd. Very odd. And I’m not just talking about the shower goggles or the bonrackles or the bed goggles, I’m talking about every little thing. Oh, yeah. I have bed goggles, too. To stop me potentially damaging the eye flap. You probably don’t want to know any more about my eye flaps, do you? ‘Eyes’ and ‘flaps’ are two words that often rarely go together and when they do, make you squirm. Like, erm… moist bourbon.

It’s wonderful yet scary. I wake up in the morning and I can see the alarm clock. It’s a little thing but after spending 15 years waking up and having to fish around for my glasses to work out what time it is, it’s a real change. Just a little, little thing, but it’s like a harbinger of good. That things are different. Better. I thought it was so stupid before the surgery when they said that you’ll be delighted to see your alarm clock, especially considering most of us see ‘7:00am’ and start weeping. But they’re right. I see that and I smile. The first day, I just sat there, smiling at my alarm clock. Come to think of it, if the burglars broke in and saw that, they probably wouldn’t steal anything out of pity for a clearly deranged lunatic smiling at his alarm clock. Well, at least they haven’t seen me naked…

I have. And I’ve never seen myself naked with my glasses on. The average human is only ever naked, with the lights on, in the bathroom, and nobody who wears glasses wears them in the bathroom. I never have. But now I can see. And as well as being able to see how filthy the damn bathroom is, I can now see that I am… really not in good shape. My face looks awful. I never looked in a mirror with my glasses on. I am ageing terribly. Good gravy. Why did nobody tell me I had a face like a smacked arse? And as for the rest of me… oh boy…

I don’t know what to do with myself. Everything is still settling down and will take a couple weeks, so everything looks a touch strange and bizarre. Like a lucid dream. I find myself walking home in the rain and enjoying it. Not worrying about my glasses getting wet and the seven hours I’ll have to spend wiping them clean. Not having to take them off to avoid said cleaning and worrying about getting run over because I can’t see. It’s just little differences like that that mean the world to me. I don’t actually know what to do with all my free time, now. I was averaging ten hours a week cleaning my glasses. I might finally learn to play that guitar in the corner of my room, getting all dusty. Nah. There might be many differences, but I’m still a lazy sod. It’s too much effort. Heck, it’s even too much effort for me to pick up the bloody guitar. Looks pretty, though.

I’m sure I’m only just discovering the world of differences that lay in front of me. I’m sure there are so many more things I’ll learn about myself and the world that I’m realising I haven’t really seen properly for most of my life. Textures and colours are so much richer. Words carry more meaning because I can’t see the mouths of others in much greater detail. The world is so much more beautiful than I ever realised. Yes, my spectacle prescription wasn’t great. It was as awful as that moment in my surgery where they squished my eyeballs and all the blood vessels exploded. Yeah, that really happened…

I would, most certainly, recommend it to other people. I know it’s a lot of money but it’s a drop in the ocean when you consider the thousands of pounds it cost is only a fraction of what the average person spends on glasses and eye care in a lifetime. And despite the many months of recovery still ahead of me. Oh, wonderful. Still, at least I have a natty pair of shower goggles. Although heaven forbid if we have a really, really bad rainstorm.

In that instance, I’d probably have to wear them to work…

French author, André Gide (1869-1951), once said: “Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.”

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
Click Here to Read the Latest Post


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