needless to say, i was not entirely shocked when i awoke friday morning with one eye sealed shut with the oh-so-familiar crust of conjunctivitis. "oh, no you didn't," i sassed, hobbling to the bathroom with a perpetual wink like a bear at the twink store.
"oh, yes you did," i exhaled, seeing the seemingly welded yellow line from duct to... ... word meaning outside corner of my eye... flecks of infection were caught in the eyelashes; a larger dollop of gunk had dried below the tear duct, looking like the yolk of a spoiled egg against the purplish hue of my ever-present, under-eye circles. i went into the routine. warm washcloths, obsessive hand washing, an inordinate amount of eye drops, lots of fluids, more obsessive hand washing, and plenty of vitamins.
yes, i have a routine for pink eye. in grand sum, i believe i had the affliction some odd dozen times in college, alone. the doctor at the university medical center actually asked me if i was into water sports, as he couldn't quite understand my predilection for the conji. "is someone peeing on you on a regular basis?"
as a child, i was a prissy, little bitch. hard to fathom, i know. regardless, i was. i was so clean i sparkled. my parents were both jocks in high school and throughout most of my early childhood, which meant that this tidy tyke spent more time at baseball diamonds and soccer fields than tea parties and open houses at the barbie dream house. it was hell. dirt, bugs, disgusting cuisine, other children, and the inability to properly plan wardrobe due to a number of factors including but not limited to: temperature drops after dark, sun exposure, mosquito protection (my mother strictly forbid us from using off), potential for rain, comfort during travel to and from current sporting event, ever-shifting formality (wardrobe at a tournament should be dramatically different from that at an exhibition game/match).
i survived this hell, though. i managed to somehow maintain my next-to-godliness despite so much of that environment working against me. the game would end, i would give my knees a few brushes, repack my satchel of game-time entertainment (usually the most current issue of highlights magazine, whatever book of fairy tales i was reading at the time, and a penney's catalog), and be ready to go. meanwhile, countless other mothers hosed down their grubby offspring in nearby water fountains, the children shrieking as the frigid water beat their filthy skin and pulled away a skin of mud to reveal children who, now, did not look much different than me... sparkly.
except, i probably had pink eye. even in childhood, i was hounded, no, plagued by this devil. despite my o.c.d.-esque attempts to remain pristine, the conji marred my otherwise perfect exterior. i was not a nose-picker, a wee-wee player, or butt-scratcher. the cause of my curse was elusive, mysterious, and yet to this day it finds me on occasion... sleeping ever-so-soundly, my eyes in the perfect season for picking, rather pinking, like clueless ingénues with snow white skin ready to be tinged by our love's first... or 34th... blush.
posted by brett @ 5:35 PM
4 Comments:
right?
i wish i could use it to get out of work.
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