The day had to come. I knew it had to come. I hated that it had to come, but I knew it had to come.
Well, it’s here.
I bought reading glasses.
Yes, they’re blue. And a bit girly. I paid $17 for them at Walgreens here in New York City, and while I look the fool, I’m able to see again while typing. And that’s a plus.
But it’s also a sign. I’m old. The laser surgery of a decade ago has died. I squint to see. My eyes feel crusty. It sucks, sucks, sucks—and the next thing that comes is surely a sore back, followed by bruised feet, followed by increased hair loss, followed by … I dunno. Death?
So here I sit, $17 glasses affixed to head, aware that the grim reaper sits over my shoulder.
Looming.
I can see him.
