The time has come for me to wear my glasses. I got them at a time when I was having a lot of headaches at work. I thought it might be eyestrain, but it turned out to be the job. Mostly the glasses sat on a shelf in their case, except when I needed to do some sewing or other tiny craft work.
I still don’t really need them for regular reading, but the world has become much more likely to contain labels with print that I simply cannot make come into focus. I read like I breathe, so anything that gets in the way of reading makes me feel like I’m suffocating.
When I wear my glasses, I am forced to concentrate on what I am reading because if I look up, the world blurs. I now understand why people wear glasses on the end of their noses and peer over the top. I am turning into one of them.
And it’s going to get worse. I am not in the habit of carrying my glasses around with me. I stared for a long time at a menu when Brent and I were out on a date until he finally told me that the print was blurry and it wasn’t me, but I still wished I had my glasses. My theory is that there is no reason to grow older gracefully when I can do it eccentrically, so tomorrow I plan to go to the bead shop to get stuff to make one of those librarian glasses-chains.
If I get my hair cut shorter and curl it fiercely, I could eventually end up looking like Mrs. Hoyer, the librarian at my elementary school. She scared me until the day I didn’t feel so good and fell asleep in one of the beanbags during lunch. She woke me gently and sent me off to call home.