Waking up this morning, alive, fresh, bright, hardly sluggish (atypical) I discovered blotches of black in my range of vision. Alarmed and a bit curious, I examined my corneas, cleaning my contacts with solution while blinking to lubricate them and opened them wide. No such luck. So, precariously and oh so carefully I drove to school with one eye shut, one eye open. I made it there safely and reported to the Guidance Office, laughing at the probability of being concerned about college applications while my eyesight, progressively waning, got reseated in priority. How perplexing a one-track mind can be. I felt it becoming this globy mess of intricate pain and then it creeping forward to right between my eyeballs in jackhammer bolts of pain, until i just borke down and called Mother, who gave me a turquoise-blue painkiller the size of an elephant fingernail, which she expected me to wash down with leftover melting ice water from her Gatorade drink from breakfast. But I love her for coming to rescue me. On the way home, relaxed but tense from sobbing, I closed my eyes and imagined I was the chaplain from Catch-22. Alone in the woods in my own camoflauged tent and Mom was Colonel Whitcomb, saying "what was wrong with me" and trying to fix it. Away from this wide-banded cortex of imagination, I opened my eyes inside out absorbing the rays of noon sunshine and looking at them filtering through the interior of my eyelids in striations of fleshy oranges and pinks. Finally home, I wobbled mimicking walking on stacked claudhopper heels, feet clumsily but comfortably nestled in Ugs and with the escargot initiative necessary to sleep for a whopping 1/4 of the day.