I’ve often heard that intellectual people live in their heads. I sort of understand that, especially since I’m very sure that is where I live.
The problem is that I’m not sure if I’m home.
That could actually be the beginning of a long angsty piece were I whine and cry and stomp, but since my super peppy optometrist worked really hard to get my contact lens prescription worked, out, I don’t want to lose them in the deluge.
On the long trek from the living room to the computer I thought of how my brain may try and psych out my eyes.
Read that slowly and feel the horror unfurl. My brain creates toms of little reality bending treats and pops them out many, many, times a day. (Maybe it’s preservation against the time weasels and the head gnome. HMM a new character, the mind Sphinx, who tosses out riddles to protect us all from I don’t know what. )
So while I think these contacts work, on some other level I wonder if maybe my perception was trying to do an end run around the whole mess by faking it’s way through the eye chart.
The peppy optometrist thought I was trying to be funny when I said, “Well that one on the end could be a ‘z’.
It could be. It’s up to my perception and the mood of the Mind Sphinx, and of course whether or not the Time Weasels have decided to keep me on the plain of existence in which there really is the letter “z” . Mercifully, the head gnome was off taking a nap, so he didn’t have a weigh in on this particular issue.
It was a one letter answer. That one answer was dependent on the mood of the group who are lounging around in my head.
I know, someone call the nut wagon to come shake me out of my tree.