I’m out and about and I notice it. I know I’m on the right track when I swat at what might be bugs and they go away. I know I’m facing a showdown when my shooing does nothing except confirm I caught a squatter on my glasses. Oh no.
I try to avoid what creates them. Terry cloth and other fuzzy fabrics. Splashy rain drops. Dusty curtains that release clouds of hassle if I bump into them. And tissues. Oh, the tissues. Anytime they’re pulled out of the box, used, or crumpled, a storm of particles.
An innocent rub of an eyebrow, a finger leaves a smudge. My spectacles grab things like a commercial grade magnet, static cling lives on around here. I’m at a loss.
Why do I care? Well, I’m a glasses-wearer with low vision. Every time the surface collection grows, that’s another obscurity for my faulty eyesight to work around. I’m already traveling with a few permanent eyesight detours, I don’t need extra construction zones, thanks.
“Is it the bad side or the good side?” I ask Stockton when he notices one, hoping it remains on the blind side, the one that doesn’t matter in my campaign for still trying to see stuff.
Away from home, lens triage isn’t ideal–my fingers or rough paper towels. I’m paranoid about messing up the lens so those options are out.
What works is simple. A soapy rinse under tap water plus a swab with a lint-free cloth. But, I don’t carry a cloth with me at all times. Nor do I have convenient access to running water at all times. (If only I owned a Birkin bag, that thing would haul a bolt of cloth plus all the fancy filtered water and cleanser my lens required. That is, if I could afford to be disgustingly frivolous and still live with myself. The best part of that setup: never seeing dirty looks thrown my way as I bump into others, rummaging around in the cavernous space. I digress.)
Until I reach home and my removal supplies, I’ll have to tolerate the add-ons. I’ll try to forget that the lint is probably dead skin cells, too. Can’t wait to be back at HQ where I can mend.
Patience, please find me when I’m fighting a smudge. One blink at a time.
2 Comments Add yours
Maybe a beekeepers hat would be the answer! But, joking apart, it must be infuriating and you sound immensely patient.
You’re too much, Bridget, haha.