Out of Sight - Out of Mind

Strange, I usually don’t write two posts back to back. I like to wait a few days to allow the occasional reader to come around and see my post without having them drop out of the loop. Perhaps it’s because of my pensive mood. I’ve been this way for the whole month of March, right after my birthday.

Hold on. I need to go back and edit. I have two commas after the word "March." Huh, that’s weird. The extra comma is not coming off. Maybe I have a speck of dirt on my laptop. Collected dust from a meager spring-cleaning or a sneeze that got past my thin tissue. So I breathe at the screen and wipe my sleeve over the lit page - breathe, wipe. I breathe misted air and wipe across a little harder. BREATHE! WIPE! Then I get the idea to flick my sight upward.

The dot moves around with my eyes.

Oh, yeah. That’s right. It’s not dirt on the screen and it’s not my bad typing. I’m going blind.

No, I shouldn’t say that. Although I wear glasses, my sight isn’t fading. It isn’t going dark at the corners as the haze slowly creeps upward to blur the objects around me. I just see black dots. Little pepper flakes moving around against bright backgrounds. Let me count them for you - one, two three, four five, six, seven? That can’t be right? Let me clean my dirty eyeglasses. I have a bad habit of forgetting to do this with my old gaffer self going senile at the age of 33. Next thing you know, I’ll be leaving my spectacles in the oven for safekeeping.

There we go! All clean now! I’ll count again. My math is still good - add 1, subtract 9, carry the 6. Hold still, dots! Darn you! Always darting around whenever I shift my brown orbs as they twirl and jump like ballerina dancers. If I could make them male strippers then that would be an entertaining sight to see. Okay . . . calculations done.

Three. I have three spots, one in the left eye and two in the right. But I’m not going blind, at least the doctor (optometrist) has claimed. It is detached pigment.

Detached pigment? Does he mean separated color in my irises, as in two quarreling florists who decide to spend some time apart? I could recommend a good marriage counselor, because seeing them like this makes me sad. It makes me teary-eyed, since I do suffer from hay fever.

No. The problem can’t be solved so easily. Look at the divorce rate. I’m up to three dots already. Yet the doctor has assured me that it’s nothing to worry about. In time, I won’t see them anymore. I’ll grow used to the dotted sight. My mind will ignore the statistics even though I’ve become one.

Maybe I have old eyes. People have been claiming this since I was young, usually when I tried to sneak into a movie above my age rating. Don’t look at Michelle in the eyes (I imagine the manager had said to the ushers) or you will be taking her by the hand and helping her to her seat while wondering why she hadn’t brought along her cane! She has a young face but old eyes. She has seen too many bad things a person shouldn’t see at childhood. Just keep your sight focused on the sticky floor and inform her that she isn’t old enough to watch the scary movie. Her scary life is far more entertaining.

So I see specks - my dancing male strippers who occasionally make a stage right whenever I ignore them because they have other lives to lead while separated from quarreling spouses working as florists. But I’m not going blind, said the doctor. It is just detached pigment.

But why doesn’t this fact make me feel, or see, any better?