Late Afternoon

By the late afternoon, it's all too too much. My eyes are getting worn out and all the cars are so shiny, so pretty, so metallic. The Boston skyline along Storrow Drive has razor-blade sharp buildings shredding the too blue sky. The doctor's given me some really dark sunglasses that look like black safety goggles from a science lab. I have to hide behind them. Do people really live in this gorgeous world and not get exhausted by 10:30am?

I see the road signs about 10 minutes away now. Before the eye surgery, I could read highway signs just about ... well, when I was almost on top of them and then, whoosh, I was past them, past the exit, forced to turn around at the next exit.

I have drops -- three kinds that sortof sting -- which I have to put in my eye every three hours. You spent a lot of time giving yourself eye drops. One is antibiotic to get rid of the unpleasant possibility of infection. One is a beta-blocker, not actually sure what that does (has to do with my eye pressure as the wound heals). The third is ... I don't remember what it does, but they are called Voltaren, Zymar, Pred Forte.

Yesterday, I asked my sister to get me a birthday cake -- which she did god bless her -- a black and white layer cake -- to celebrate my brand new eye and this new world I've been born into. I wanted to celebrate, party, sing, dance. We had salmon and potatoes and roasted vegetables and cake for dinner. It was great.