Consp-eye-racy Theories

 

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned that my eyelid hates me and has decided to rebel against the rest of my face. I went to the eye doctor, endured a little torment, got some antibiotics, and assumed I was well on my way to living happily ever after.

Unfortunately, my eyelid is still in a bad state. No, it’s not in Arkansas. I just meant that it’s still really red and uncomfortable.

The antibiotics improved the condition somewhat, then it stayed exactly the same with no improvement for several days, and then it suddenly got much worse. It looks a little something like this, only much less fashionable:

Eyes are creepy up close, no?

I’ve asked my eyelid why it’s committing mutiny, and it has yet to answer. I would torture it for information, but since it’s attached to me, it’d be like I’m torturing myself. And it’s already doing a pretty good job of that on its own. As they say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. So since my eyelid is my enemy, and I am the enemy of my eyelid, then I am actually my friend.  But I can’t technically be my own friend, because a) that might make my other friends feel a little insecure about where they stand with me, and b) my eyelid is not really my enemy. My eyelid might think that we’re enemies, but I personally dislike conflict, and would prefer that we all just get along.

Especially since this particular enemy is attached to my face.

After giving it some thought, I’ve come up with a couple of reasons for my eyelid’s suddenly-worsened condition. You might call them conspiracy theories. Or, consp-eye-racy theories.

No, don’t give me that look. You have to give me this terrible joke. I have nothing else.

Theory 1 – Three years ago, I woke up with shingles. My eyelid is under the impression that I enjoyed that time of my life, and is trying to help me relive it.

Theory 2 – My eyelid knows how much I like the colors pink and purple, and thinks I would like to experience these colors on my face.

Theory 3 – My eyelid is misogynistic, and is dissatisfied with my feminist views.

Theory 4 – I told a friend that my skin is looking better than it has in years, thanks to avoiding makeup for the past month. I was trying to have a “look on the bright side” attitude, but my eyelid may have misconstrued this as arrogance, and is wanting to bring me down a peg or two. According to my body, something about my appearance must always be amiss.

Whatever reason my eyelid has, I went back to the doctor on Thursday, and now I’m on a tougher, burlier medication. It’s like the Arnold Schwarzenegger of antibiotics.

In yo face, eyelid! Except you live on my face, so your face is also my face. But that’s beside the point!

Honestly, I was hoping the doctor could provide a more elaborate treatment for me. Like…eyelid transplant surgery or something. I have no sentimental feelings left toward this eyelid at all, so I have no problem using some dead person’s eye curtains. If that’s not possible, we could even take a flap of skin from somewhere on my body. Like the back of my knee. Or my butt.

Eyelids made from butts might be unconventional, but maybe they’re less likely to get infected or fall off my face. Yes, maybe butt-lids are more conforming.

I’m going to go ahead and apologize for this sufficiently weird post 🙂

 

 

 

Torture Chambers and Other Pleasant Ideas

A couple of days ago, I waxed poetically  complained about my mutant eye disease. I’m happy to say that I simply have a mild (though mysteriously-obtained) eyelid infection, and I should be back to overusing eyeliner in no time!

 “That’s good. You looked like Quasimodo, but without the hump.” – My mom

Damn. She’s not wrong.

The upside to this appointment (aside from the fact that my eye is not going to spontaneously fall out of my head), is that my eye doctor  paid me a lovely compliment. He took note of the fact that my toenail polish, shirt, and purse all (unintentionally) match today, and told me I “looked fancy.”

I fluttered my crusty and swollen eyelid at him in response.

The downside to this appointment was entering the exam room and feeling like I’d crossed the threshold into my own personal torture chamber. It was like someone had asked me to write down my least favorite things in the world, and then charged me an insurance copay to experience them. Granted, the room didn’t include knives and chains and fire, so it wasn’t THAT torturous. It was more of a modest torture chamber. You know, as opposed to a severe one.

First of all, directly across from the exam chair, there hangs a huge, floor-to-ceiling mirror. Therefore, as a I sat in the chair, I was forced to look in this mirror and witness what my hips and thighs look like when I’m sitting. Everything just sort of….spreads out.

Perturbed by the sight, I started adjusting my sitting positions and leg placements in order to get the most attractive angle.

Yes, this looks totally natural.

To add insult to injury, the office radio started playing the song, “Maria” by Brooks & Dunn. I have held an unwavering hatred of that song since I was 4 years old. The song didn’t even come out until I was 8, so that should show you how much I hate it. When it plays, I want to stab someone, vomit, and cry, all at the same time.

Seriously, it’s like listening to a bag of cats being set on fire. I just can’t do it. I can’t. No.

The only way this (modest) torture chamber could have been made worse is if the office staff had somehow managed to waft the smells of gasoline and burned popcorn through the vents. Even worse,  if they’d dangled a platter of chips and queso above my head – just ever-so-slightlyyy out of my reach.

All in all, I’d say the compliment and positive eye news almost balance out the wretched song and thigh view. It’s a close call, though, so I may have to have a glass of wine just to make for certain the day ends well.

Weapons and fire aside, what would be your idea of a personal torture chamber? Would there be a certain song or noise playing? A specific smell? What other factors would be present?

 

 

When Body Parts Rebel

I thought my eyes and I had a good relationship going. I use them to drive and watch TV, and they even help me find lost items, such as bits of popcorn that have fallen in my bra. Even my eyelids are useful! They’re like little curtains for my eyes when I need to sneeze or sleep. Granted, I poke and prod them with eye makeup a lot, but that’s only because I like them so much and want others to notice them.

APPARENTLY my left eye is feeling unappreciated. APPARENTLY it’s sick of this bullshit, and is calling for mutiny.

A couple weeks ago, I woke up to discover a stye on my eye. That’s right, everyone! STYE and EYE rhyme! Hahahahahaha. Haha. Ha. If you didn’t have a hearty chuckle over that, you clearly don’t have a sophisticated sense of humor, because it’s brought endless hours of entertainment to my so-called loved ones.

If you’ve never had a stye, it’s this tender, red bump that forms on your eyelid, up close to the lashes. It’s not fun, and it makes the makeup process a bit more challenging, but it usually goes away on its own in a few days.

Turns out, this critter ain’t no stye. Or maybe it was a stye at one time, but it got pissed about my nonchalance towards it, so it decided to up its game. It’s pulled out the heavy artillery.

Here’s a dramatic reenactment:

Now my whole eyelid is red, painful, and puffy, and even droops so that it looks as though I’m half-winking all the time. No, I’m not flirting with you, sir. You can stop winking back.

I’m unwilling to post a picture of myself in order to preserve my anonymity (and vanity), but I will provide some example comments from loving friends and family who have witnessed The Eye:

 “Eeeek! Lord have mercy!” – my mother

 “You look like the bride of Frankenstein.” – also my mother

 “It hurts me to look at that.” – a friend

I sort of felt like crying when I looked in the mirror this morning, but I was afraid that the salt in my tears would make the swelling even worse, so I’ve decided instead to deliriously smile and insist that I’m totally okay and comfortable with all of this.

Don’t worry friends, I plan to march my eye to the doctor first thing tomorrow, where perhaps we can figure out a battle strategy together. I think we’re going to need to take major action to show this bastard who’s boss.

How’s your Sunday going? Any of your body parts revolting?