Dry Humor

Our car speeds down the busy highway. Whether the sun shines or hides behind a cloud it always happens a few miles into our commute. I start to feel the itch. In my winter morning grogginess I slowly wake up to the familiar, uncomfortable sensation of dry eyes.

In the colder months I can’t escape the recirculated air of indoor environments. So I dose my prescribed eye drops and apply soothing eye gel as needed. I drink extra water. Jailed in the heated indoors or with time outdoors on a windy day, my lines of defense evaporate.

At home I pick up a rag to wipe down a counter and my mind works to invent solutions. Naturally I think about what would shield my eyes. I wear glasses and they don’t protect me from wind. And unless I devised a way to tint/prescriptify my form-fitted racquetball glasses those are out, too.

I spray bleach cleaner and notice the chemical scent. Hmmm. Chlorine. Reminds me of swimming pools. I used goggles as a swim teamer, anxiously smooshing them to my face to create perfect suction, avoiding a disastrous leak. I didn’t wear them when I swam for fun at the pool though. Eyes never felt irritated or looked red too often. Were my eyeballs tougher as a kid?

I need custom goggles. Not TYRs. Nor greasy communal ones from high school chem lab. I need a revolutionary pair complete with a salinated eyespace ecosystem. Too dry? A mist of salty sea air  enters with the press of a button. A bit too tropical of a climate? I can break the seal and let in some air. I’ll gladly goggle up like co-pilot Fred Noonan to Stockton’s Amelia Earhart as he taxis us around town. Moisturized eyes, zen peace. Ahhh. Recirculated air, arid hell. I blink in reality. Sigh.

This week the snow melted away and the temps rose. This morning as I let the terriers out, the songbirds chirping in the trees signaled spring’s hesitant presence. I feel the close of dry eye season. It’s sunglasses weather. Rejoice.

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