Posted by: dougery | August 18, 2011

The Eyes Have it

So I read the news article about the amoebas that eat people’s brains, of course I did. And rather than be horrified–which I suppose I probably was on some level, I mean we’re talking about microscopic organisms shooting up your nose and into your brain where they are presented with the relatively easy decision of a) starve and die or b) eat neurons, live, and make more amoebas, which is a distinctly horrible train of thought–I was mostly just introspective.

I wondered, at this very moment, how many microscopic buggies were on or in me doing their thing, eating, making more of themselves, cleaning up, filing their taxes, getting eaten by other microscopic buggies or slowly amassing an army to kill me. I wondered, in the grand scheme of things, region by region, system by system, organ by organ, what part of me would be the last to throw in the towel and willingly be devoured by our invisible friends.

I mean, its not like I know what parts taste best. Probably fatty parts, or gooey, interior parts. Bones would probably last a long time but then I remembered that field mice and other living things in-the-know will readily eat marrow like its going out of style. So maybe bones wouldn’t be the last thing to go. I modified my thought process. I wasn’t necessarily going to figure out what would last the longest per se, just what would make the toughest stand. The part of me least likely to be pushed over. It was a fairly easy answer.

My eyes.

My eyes are tough as shit. For the last 16 years I’ve abused them by wearing contacts just about every day. Here you have two moist, relatively soft, agreeable body parts just doing their thing, looking at stuff, shooting out their eye-rays (as the pre-renaissance/dark ages physicians believed) taking it all in and then flipping the world upside-down because thats how they do. Now cram a pair of sliver-thin sheaths of plastic on top of them. Make sure that the plastic is oftentimes very very old and infested with microscopic buggies and the towns and cities they have built out of their dead and crusty relatives. Make sure the plastic sheath is torn in places, make sure it is dry and shriveled and improperly maintained. Do all this because why take care of the things you need to observe the world.

My eyes take that abuse and, while most often red and irritated looking–enough that I’ve been asked if I ‘toke up a lot’ or spend most of my free time sobbing uncontrollably (the answer of course is both)–they champion on. I’m actually at a loss as to what would actually harm my eyes, now that they’ve been sanded down to a polished, diamond hard sheen. Oh, and I forgot to mention that years of wearing glasses before I got contacts accustomed my eyes to not having to blink as often as they should. So even after I no longer wear glasses I still blink at a retarded rate (not a diss, get a dictionary, nerds). And as such my contacts, which were already improperly un-moist become even un-moistier.

If given the opportunity I’m pretty sure my eyes would have packed their bags and escaped in the middle of the night. Maybe they would have found a new place to live like the center of somebody’s palms like that freaky dude in Pan’s Labyrinth. Or maybe they would have formed a X-Ray Spex punk cover band. They’d at least take a trip to my optometrist’s office and do unspeakable things to his files, potted plants, and carpeting. If they were halfway decent confidence men, maybe they would trick some poor sucker’s eyes into trading places and I’d wake up with green or brown eyes instead.

Green or brown eyes that would scream silently as I woke up and jammed sliver-thin plastic sheaths onto their faces, blinked, and went off to stare at a computer screen for 9 hours.


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