World, where are you
It's an interesting ordeal, life. For my eyes in particular. Four weeks ago, if not a little bit more, I had the pleasure of going through corrective laser surgery. It was, I think, far too short an experience and not at all fitting for what it marked the end of. Not to mention the fact that it was so damn cool to experience, having the outer lens of your eye dissolved with alcohol, and then promptly pushed aside by the doctor *while* one is watching. The strangest thing, though, was that once he shoved separated parts of the lens to the sides of your eye, my vision actually got clearer by a very noticeable amount. Most likely, this was simply the effect of the alcohol blurring the removed lens now gone, but nonetheless fascinating. Then again, when you're about to have a laser have a go at your eye, you're in a bit of a state of mind to say the least. This only heightened by the fact that it's not bacon you're smelling, it's your eye tissue singeing.

Mind you, it's not at all as disconcerting as it sounds, in fact, I'd do the whole thing over again for kicks if it hadn't been so damned expensive. It's not every day you get to have your eye dissected and promptly bombarded with lasers (strange thought, for an avid Sci-Fi nut). Ironically enough, blindness ensued for about two weeks before improving. Now, there's a happy story for you.

However, last Saturday, after having a fellow's nail come into very high-velocity contact with my beloved right eye and having precious pieces of it mutilated, I've been blind for about yet another week.

Needless to say, I'm getting damn well fed-up with not seing a fucking thing. The eye-patch does become me, though.