Did the appointment with Doctor McCay, the eye doctor, this morning.
I was a little surprised that I had to do all the usual eye tests again. I kind of assumed that not a lot will have changed in a week, so why bother?
But looking back, it makes sense. A lot COULD change in a week. I want the doctor to base his decisions on the most up to date data available.
And the tests are no big deal. Honestly, the eyedrops are more of a pain, and that’s because of my eyelashes, which are unusually long for a man.
I imagine that would prove to be an asset were I ever to do drag.
And what the hell, I just might some day. I am sure I would enjoy it. It would be a superlative outlet for both my rapier wit and my smoldering flamboyance.
Other than being Fruvous, of course.
Anyhow, the pupil dilating eyedrops sting a little, and the way they test your inner eye pressure at that office involves more eye drops and sticking the meter directly on to your eyeball, which doesn’t hurt , but is pretty weird, but for the most part, it’s no biggie.
Honestly, the large periods of waiting are the worst part. Next time I go there, I am definitely bringing my tablet. I was so bored!
The wait once I actually got into the wait room was the worst. Felt like forever. As you might expect, I was kind of eager to hear the news about my poor left eye, and that made the waiting much worse.
When Doctor Mackay (sp?) showed up, we talked about the problem with my eye. He took a look as I told him that there did not seem to be any improvement.
But I think I was wrong about that. The filmy portion of my vision that looks like you cracked an egg onto a camera lens is actually a lot less opaque than before.
The big black dot plus assorted other tendrils of darkness are still there, although it’s possible that they, too, are less opaque than before.
Which is good, because the surgical procedure for cleaning up my eye sounds horrifying. I think Doctor Mackay could use a quick refresher on bedside manner because the way he casually talked about peeling back my eye and draining the goo out of it damn near gave me a heart attack.
I know he’s a surgeon, not a regular doctor, but geez dude. That is a very tender and intimate part of my body we’re talking about, not a malfunctioning sump pump.
He decided to give the injection I got last week another week to do its work. OK.
I left with an appointment to see him next week. At first, there was a problem because he wasn’t due to be back in Richmond for three weeks, and that is a bit too long to leave my fucked up eye.
But then he asked if I could see him at the eye clinic at St. Paul’s hospital, and I thought about it and said yes.
If we made it to the Eye Care Center in Vancouver, we can make it to St. Paul’s.
So that’s where my eye stands. Another week and change for the injection to maybe fix the problem, and if it doesn’t, a horrifying surgery.
So, go injection, go! With how much that fucker hurt, I feel I am owed some results.
More after the break.
Get your damned hands off me, you dirty depression!
While I was waiting for Doctor Mackay today, and thus bored and restless, I actually remembered to take that excess energy and use it to push back my depression.
I can do that because I have a very clear idea of depression in my mind. I know what it is and what if feels like and thus I can direct mental effort towards its destruction.
I sometimes imagine this as prising depression’s icy fingers off my heart, hence the title of this section listed above.
But for the most part, I visualize it more as being pushing a big steel wall back by sheer force of will and grim determination.
I am a big fan of grim determination. Grim determination gets things done.
And the thing is, it works. I can feel that wall moving back as I push on it like I have Juggernaut strength and force it to retreat and give me some more fucking room in the all too coffin like confines of my mind.
Gotta watch it with that line of thinking. Don’t need to set off my mental claustrophobia.
This pushing back thing is something I have done a number of times It is a great use of all that excess nervous energy my massively magnetic mind naturally produces as a byproduct of all the high voltage mentation that’s always going on in my head.
I think part of that magic is my ability to keep thinking about something without it needing to take space in my conscious mind. My mind can keep beavering away at a thought without me doing anything at all.
Then, at some future point, my mind goes DING and outputs the result into my conscious mind, and I am like, “Cool. ”
Which is fine in theory, but in practice, it means a massive amount of my mental CPU time is eaten up by dozens of these subterranean thought processes that I started and forgot about, kind of like when your computer is slow because you have way too many background processes running.
Makes me wish my brain had a Task Manage so I could halt most of them.
But I suppose my deep and profound understanding of things has to come from somewhere. Somewhere in my mind is a white hot forge that melts all these raw thoughts and refines them, taking out everything extraneous, and then outputs it as another piece of the giant INTJ machine that is my mind.
Does that sound creepy? I feel like it sounds creepy. I am such a strange admixture of types. A highly systemized and powerful computer for a brain but with the personality of a harmless performer who just wants cuddles and laughs and who deeply cares about people and does his best to truly empathize with them, but who truly believes that he can best help people by keeping a cool head and remaining objective so he can see things how they truly are, and thus solve problems efficiently.
Some day, I will be able to conceive of a single conception of self that can include all my strange ingredients into a cohesive persona.
But if not, well, there are worse things to be than a chimera.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.