This afternoon at 1:00, I will be seeing an ophthalmologist for the first time. Oddly enough, despite everything we’ve been through with Meredith’s eyes, the word ophthalmologist is still very difficult for me to spell. Because it’s 194 degrees outside and I’m choosing to live simply this morning, I shall from here on out refer to my o-p-h-t-h-a-l-m-o-l-o-g-i-s-t as an Eye Doctor.
I’ve noticed some twitching in my right eye over the past few weeks, and I’ve decided to not complain about it because 1) Complaining isn’t an attractive verb; and, 2) My sister’s eye has been twitching for a few YEARS, and she may have to see a specialist in a different town from where she lives to investigate her twitching. So, really, why in the hell would I bellyache about an infrequent twitch?! (I’m using twitch entirely too much. Time to pull out a grab bag of synonyms: Tic, Spasm, Vellication, Quiver, Paroxysm, Convulsion! I choose Vellication!)
Yesterday, along with the vellication, I discovered that my right eye was crying. Every time I tipped my head, actual tears poured out and ran down my face. I was a little tea pot, short and stout! This actually came in handy when I took my car to the service station. As the mechanic and I reviewed his invoice, a huge tear jumped out of my eye, rolled down my nose, and dripped onto the paper.
Mechanic: …so, there might be wattage issues, but it’s nothing we’re concerned about.
My eye: (Drip, roll, drop, SPLASH!)
Mechanic: Dude. Is everything okay?
Me: I’m good. I might have wattage issues, but it’s nothing I’m concerned about.
Mechanic: There’s no charge for today’s visit.
My right eye cried all through Harper’s karate class last night. It cried as I made my friend Mitzi’s cucumber salad. It cried as I went deeper into The Girl Who Played with Fire. I have to wonder if perhaps the right side of my body is feeling sort of sad for reasons beyond my understanding. (Perhaps yesterday was a special anniversary for my appendix, and Right Side is mourning her loss. Of course, that doesn’t explain the vellicative behavior. Vellicative! Say it out loud and notice how it gives your tongue a workout! I love that!)
This morning, Old Rightie is no longer weeping and she hasn’t yet vellicated, meaning the Eye Doctor is probably going to stamp my file with the words Wooden Nickel as I leave his office. (Grab Bag: Two-Dollar Bill, Charlatan, Bunyip!)