My Eyes! The Goggles Do Nothing! II

Though popularized by Rainier Wolfcastle, to me that line will always be singularly Mothball's. Carrey's Oh Billy? Mothball's. Farley's Let's drink some beers? Mothball's. Myers' ERRRMM, I love you son? Mothball's. Lizett's I love you Billy? Frosty's. To get back to the point, my eyes are meeeeeeessed up. I don't know if I scratched my cornea, or have an eye infection, or if Lizett stabbed me in the eye as a practical joke, but I was driving to work Monday morning and out of nowhere, BAM! Keeping my eyes open was abruptly no longer an option.

Being the pale, fair haired, blue eyed MacDaddy/DaddyMac that I am, I've always been abnormally sensitive to light, but normally I can sunglass/car shade/squint my way through it. Not so Monday. I could barely keep my right eye open enough to pull off the road, my left eye was sealed shut, tears were streaming down both sides of my face, and though I was in the car alone I swear I heard someone screaming like a woman. It was glorious. What could I do? I was already halfway to work. I covered up old lefty with my hand, screamed YAAAAARRR! and tally-ho'd it the rest of the way to the sweet release of my conveniently unlit office.

Even my desk lamp was too much. I turned it off, cranked my monitor brightness down to minimum, and then quietly resolved not to go see a doctor about this. Don't worry mom, I will if it persists. It's been getting steadily better since. I managed to drive to work this morning without any sun-induced weeping at all! I cried a little when I saw litter on the highway. And then again when Lizett shattered all my windows with a maglite as a practical joke. And when the media started covering the media's over-coverage of Paris Hilton. If any news outlet so much as hints at covering the media's over-coverage of the media's over-coverage of Paris Hilton, I...I don't know what I'll do. I don't.