I went to the eye doctor for the first time a few months ago.
My eye doctor is a very small woman. I swear, she’d fit into my pocket with room to spare for car keys. But she seemed competent. She asked what sounded like smart questions to ask in an eye examination room. “Do you see that? Is it blurrier now? How about now? Do you ever see things that aren’t there?”
She didn’t really ask that last question. But I could’ve answered yes. I see things that aren’t there all the time. Giants squatting by the side of the road. Tall men walking toward me with hats hanging from their hands. Threatening birds. Swarms of kites.
Of course there are reasonable explanations for every vision and revision, but you won’t hear me attempt them. I like the idea that part of my landscape is impossible. It makes me feel hopeful. It makes me feel less responsible for the way the world is – fraught, clogged, stalled, idling.
We are all cranky today. Maybe because it’s August. Maybe because it’s Tuesday. I have yelled four times for behavior that isn’t all that bad, and I’ve apologized five times. The lawn is half mowed. My work is half done. I’ve eaten too many damn Pinwheels. The mail woman sped by our mailbox without even dropping off a catalogue. We did go fishing, that was the shining patch in a dull afternoon. We went to the dam and L helped B with worms and I helped T with tangled line and we all sat drowsily in the sun, leaning over the wall gazing at the underwater world below. I saw a mermaid. A small one who’d fit in my pocket with room to spare for bobbers.