Wednesday, January 26, 2011
High Definition Vision and I'm Not 22 Anymore
I know this because at my day-after check-up I was already at 20/20. Maybe my vision will continue to improve to the point where I can see through things. My x-ray vision talents will be a real hit at airport security.
But I do feel as though something is missing. Like a good friend. My nighttime ritual has been cut in half. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and then my fingers automatically go to my eyes to take out my contacts...and it hits me all over again. The vision I have is mine. I am no longer contact enabled. My very own eyeballs are seeing this clear and crisp reflection of me in the mirror.
What saddens me is that over the years I have come to love the really, really blurry reflection of me. Every evening after I took out my contacts and before I put on my glasses, I could imagine that the woman looking back at me in the mirror was a fresh-faced, just out of college and ready for that next step in life 22-year-old. That girl didn't have gray hairs stubbornly pushing out through dark brown hair, or dimples that are strangely taking on a life of their own, or the deepening of laugh lines around her eyes.
But with my superwoman eyesight I don't get to look at the blurry girl version of me anymore. Now I have to face the cold, hard facts that my HD vision is telling me.
I am not 22 anymore.
Until now. Stupid LASIK vision. And then, just to prove the point my eyes were telling me, this happens.
Last Saturday, Max and I go out to celebrate a friend's 40th birthday. Clue Number 1.
After dinner, we go to a bar. There is a pool table in the back and I think it will be really fun to play a few games. After all, in college I could occasionally hold my own in a pool game. There are two guys playing so I saunter up and confidently place my two quarters on the table then walk away. A few moments later, I walk back in to see if it's my turn. But on the table, in front of my quarters is a dollar bill.
"What's with the dollar?" I ask.
"That's for Ray. But don't worry, you're up next." One of the guys answers.
"But what does the dollar mean?" I ask again thinking that he's going double or nothing, or trying to send me a message of some sort. Like, he knows that after I win the game against his buddy, it's going to take him at least two games to beat me. I must look like a serious pool shark, I think.
The two guys just look at me for a moment. Then one of them says gently, "It's a dollar a game."
Right. Of course it's not 50 cents anymore. Inflation. Clue Number 2.
We get home late that night. And as I wasn't the driver, I had a really good time. When I wake up the next morning.
"Ouch." Clue Number 3.
I am not 22 anymore.