:( 
So I went and got an eye exam. I wanted to find out if I’m a candidate for laser eye surgery, and boy, did they do a number on me.
Apparently they had to dilate my pupils so they can take a better look inside my eyeballs. What a fucking trip. The effect caused by the dilating eyedrops feels as if your eyes were being tied with a tiny rope. Or if a small fist was squeezing them from inside your eyeballs.
After all the tests were made, I looked myself in a mirror. Holy demonic posessions, Batman! My pupils were so big that I could only see a big black hole with a dark brown rim where my iris was supposed to be. It freaked me out at first, but then I started laughing maniacally, because I thought I looked like this little fella.
I had to be driven home, since I could not drive with dilated pupils in the bright noon sun. That would have been "interesting", considering I almost walked into a stone pillar when I got out of the office.
When I got home, the fact that I was spooked by bright lights and saw everything with a blurry halo cuadrupled my clumsiness. The best thing I could do was walk around in boots, so as to not lose my toes with all the crap lying around here. If you want to get an idea about how cluttered my house is, interior decorators refer to this decorating style as Thunderdome Chic. I’m surprised I don’t see Tina Turner walking around with chain mail armor and two cinnabons dangling from her ears.
I thought that by taking a nap the effect would wear off and I’d be partying the night away in a matter of hours. Bullshit. Even as I write this, my pupils are still as wide as Courtney Love’s would be after one of her heroin binges. I’m kinda scared, I don’t know if it’s supposed to last this long.
I had to cancel all my plans and stay home feeling like a useless piece of shit just because my iris seems to be on vacation. This gives a whole new meaning to the term "Lazy eye". Although I do find extremely fun walking around the house in boxers, boots and huge sunglasses that rival Sophia Loren’s, while my family looks at me from the corner of their eyes and wonder if I’ve "fuckin’ lost it".
Good times.
I didn’t know that being "slightly crippled" could be so entertaining. I wonder how it’s gonna be after the operation?
I feel a strong desire to crank up the Crazy-meter after the procedure’s done and freak the hell out of everyone. I am the son of The Tragedienne, after all, so I need to put all that drama to good use. Let’s see. What’s my motivation?
