2002-07-28 - 8:05 p.m.
Waking to the announcement of my Liege's fist against the door, I smell pancakes and roll over, groping for my glasses.
Odd, to wear glasses. My contacts have, though tears and sweat, fogged to discomfort. So, Friday night, I finally peeled them off--it felt strange but good. Then, when I went to the case in which I usually store them (it's great... it's like a cartoon crab. When you start to close it, it gives resistance, resistance, resistance, and then it SNAPs shut. Simple pleasures), and they weren't there.
Or in the bedroom. Or in the front hallway, on the bookcase, or on the table in the living room, or anywhere in the bathroom. I swear, I looked in every normally-frequently-used container in the place.
So, I put in new contacts in order to find my glasses. I did find them, in my (What's in the) basket, where I had looked already, twice.
I'd need the contacts for Saturday, anyway (flashbacks to 20 year), so I just left them in until after the event. My glasses don't fit in the helm anyway I angle it.
I close my eyes, and they don't itch. They sting, a little, but in a few days, they'll feel better.
A few days from tomorrow night.
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