Spectacles: a whinge against the inescapable

2012-10-22 12.18.47These days it takes until around midday for the parallel sleep scars just above the outer edge of my left eyebrow to disappear. My face remains creased longer and longer.

This amuses me. The slow sloppiness of the body’s droop into a new – an older – age is too inevitable to rage against. But if there’s one thing I wish I could appeal against, it is the onset of age-related sight issues.

I cannot love my spectacles yet. One day I will, I know, because they will be all that links me to a page of text. But for now, I resent them.

They fog up when I drink something hot while I’m reading. They get squashed off kilter when I put my face on the pillow in order to read lying on my side. They are never where I need them.

When they’re on and each letter asserts itself from the murk, I forget I have specs. I get up to do something else and bounce off furniture like a drunk – because my glasses are for reading only.

I read and someone comes in to say something. I look up at them and a wave of nausea sweeps over me as they wobble in the distance. I must learn to peer over the top of the rims, like a stern librarian.

I read all the time, and everything. My eyes and alphabetical formations are locked in an ancient relationship in which I have little say.

And now this has come between them: the failing of sight.

Posted under: Indiscriminate Devotion

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