Welcome!: The Story of The Eye

Thursday 28 June 2007

The Story of The Eye

I'm sorry for being tad dramatic in the previous entry. I thought I agreed to leave the emotional baggage as far away as possible in here? This is just a provider for my bimbiotic side, isn't it? So why don't you..forget what I've written? It doesn't matter, it won't affect you anyway.

So. Today is a shitty, shitty day.

My eyes are blotchy red. Dunno why. Actually since yesterday morning. I woke up, looked at myself in the mirror and whoa there! Felt like I was staring at some scary vampire. My right eye, yes, has gone berserk. Red, I mean. It didn't hurt or something. In fact, it felt nothing, which made me feel even more annoyed.

I mean, red eye isn't like some pimple you can cover with concealer. So the eye is like mocking me, "Yeeee! I'm red! But there's nothing you can do about it! I'm red!"

I was actually contemplating not to go out, cos I figured if I go out, the chance of the eye getting even redder is higher, well, because of those dust and smoke and dirty air out there. But I decided to shrug it off, I had a feeling my friend wouldn't be quite symphathetic reading my text, "Yo. Can't go out. Sorry. My eye's acting up. It's...err, red." Nope, didn't think so. Especially when she 1)was already in Starbucks, 2)waiting for me, and 3)alone.

And 'sides, I kinda hoped that it would get better on itself. You know, probably, it just needs some air. Orchard air. A girl could hope.

So I went out. And didn't really think about the eye until after the time we all tried on clothes on Zara. Cos only then that I looked in the mirror and saw that it hasn't gotten any better. Oh, damn.

..that didn't stop me from snapping pictures, though.

The jacket was fabulous. Gawd, one day I will afford to buy it. I will!

After playing some catch-up, shoppings, eating, and lots of gossiping, the eye went back home and got a night rest. I wake up in the middle of the dawn, unable to sleep. And so I just lied there, listening to some slow music from my mp3 and finally fell back to sleep. (I'm in love with Gary Barlow's 'For All That You Want' now)

I don't really wanna talk bout this morning, cos it's easily the reason why this day sucks big time. And the cause of my emotional sadness.

But what's tad more irritating was that the eye hasn't recovered yet! No matter how galons of eyedrops I have put in use!

It might be..just the time to change my lens, so I headed out to buy a new one. Green ones this time. Long story short, here I am, writing this with my geeky glasses(cos the eye needs some quality time alone from the lens). It's looking better, although still a bit red. Mistery of mistery, I don't even know why it got red in the first place.

I'm soooo getting old, my eye can't even handle the pressure well enough!

Well, they say third time is the charm. So hopefully, by the third day tomorrow, the eye's getting all twinkly and gorgeous again.

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Quotes

There's a hundred million different ways of writing, and it takes you a long time to sort through that stuff. And I think it takes anyone a long time to find a voice.

You must learn to take the good with the bad, the happy with the sad, love what you’ve got and remember what you had. Learn to forgive, but never forget, learn from your mistakes but never regret. People change and things go wrong, but you just have to remember that life goes on.

The day before I’m supposed to be meeting Caroline for a drink, I develop all the textbook symptoms of a crush: nervous stomach, long periods spent daydreaming, an inability to remember what she looks like. I can bring back the dress and the boots, and I can see her bangs, but her face is a blank.

I don't know, I think that if I could just accept the fact that my life is supposed to be difficult. You know, that's what to be expected, then I might not get so pissed-off about it and I'll just be glad when something nice happens.

I can see now I never really committed to Laura. I always had one foot out the door, and that prevented me from doing a lot of things, like thinking about my future and... I guess it made more sense to commit to nothing, keep my options open. And that's suicide. By tiny, tiny increments.

There's a big fucking world out there. It's messy, and it's chaotic, and it's never, never ever the thing you'd expect. It is ok to be scared, but you cannot allow your fears to turn you into an asshole, not when it comes to the people that love you, the people that need you.

Maybe what I'm saying is, is the world might be evolving the way a person evolves. Right? Like, I mean, me for example. Am I getting worse? Am I improving? I don't know. When I was younger, I was healthier, but I was, uh, whacked with insecurity, you know? Now I'm older and my problems are deeper, but I'm more equipped to handle them.

I am nothing special; just a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten. But in one respect I have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who's ever lived: I've loved another with all my heart and soul; and to me, this has always been enough.

Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.

A woman needs to be held, even, and science has shown this, if its with someone she doesn't care about. Protective hormones are released, and the amount of hormones released depends on the degree to which she is held. The first and best is the complete surround. He wraps you in both arms, whispers how beautiful you are. Second best is the 'arm around.' He is next to you but with one arm around you. Third is he's just next to you on his elbow, but he rests his hand on your stomach and looks at you. Fourth is you snuggling up to him with your head on his chest, while he looks away into space. But when the first best happens, you feel completely, wonderfully like a woman.

So, so what, so fuck off, go home, leave you alone? I'll tell you something Paul, there isn't anything that I've wanted for eighteen years, cause I was a kid eighteen years ago. And if I did still want the same things I'd think I'd gone wrong somewhere, because actually I don't want to marry David Cassidy, I don't want bigger tits, I don't want to do better on my marks. I've stopped worrying about that kind of thing and maybe you should try.

Well maybe there's a big bit of you that's gone missing somewhere, maybe everyone should want something they've always wanted.

Why is it that adults aren't supposed to go mad about anything? You gotta keep a lid on it. And if you don't then people are apparently entitled to say what they like. "You haven't grown up. You're a moron. Your conversation is trivial and boorish. You can't express your emotional needs. You can't relate to your children." And you die, lonely and miserable. But you know, what the hell, every cloud has a silver lining.

I just woke up one morning and didn't feel the same way. Where did it go? It was like there had been a lot of food on a plate in front of us, and we ate it all really quickly, and then there was nothing left. Maybe that's how couples stay together: they're not greedy. They know that what they have in front of them has to last a long time, so they kind of pick at it. I hope it's not like that, though. I hope that when people are happy together, it feels as though someone keeps piling seconds and thirds on their plates.

That is what I have learned: Sex is destructive. Love is nothing to be fooled with. I learned that I was dangerous, not to be trusted. I wondered if my parents were right, with all of their stiff lovelessness. Maybe they knew better. My parents don't dole out love for the deserving or the undeserving. I was learning that love could cost me.

You could say all you liked about reason and logic and common sense and imagination, but when the chips were down, the one skill you needed was the ability to think about absolutely nothing whatsoever.

There is a comfort in never making an effort, but it's a lonely comfort. What keeps you going is the knowledge that you're only playing with only four cards showing. But when you see other people succeeding with their mediocre hands, you have to make a decision. If you turn over that final card you're certain of victory, but it also means you have nothing in reserve.

I’d gone through life believing in the strength and competence of others; never in my own. Now, dazzled, I discovered that my capacities were real. It was like finding a fortune in the lining of an old coat.

Maybe we all live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as mere consequence we can never feel merely content: we have to be unhappy, or ecstatically, head-over-heels happy, and those states are difficult to achieve within a stable, solid relationship.