|He seems to be enjoying his progressives|
Making progress toward better conditions; going forward or onward
Well, I must protest. You see, which is a bad word to use because I don't see, I learned yesterday that my thirty year (30!) run with contact lenses is coming to an end and it's back to glasses. It's over. How is that progress? Apparently, because I've been wearing rigid lenses for twenty-five of those thirty years, I've developed callouses on my eyes. Cornea=soft/rigid lenses=hard. Advantage=rigid lenses. As a result, no more contacts. Oh, and PS, since my vision continues to be absolutely craptastic, I get to wear progressives. Awesome!
So I see this as one more stop on my 'Middle Age is Friggin' Awesome!' tour. As some kind of further karmic smackdown, I woke up at 330AM this morning because I had to go to the can (they make a pill for that, right?) and discovered that my hip was aching and so was the bridge of my foot. It would appear that I am falling apart faster than troubled former teen
skank star Lindsay Lohan's rather tenuous understanding of rehab. No good can come from this.
Well, some good. As a wise friend of mine, who is perhaps the best caller of bull on the planet, pointed out on BookFace yesterday as I posted my progressive lament:
Don't knock it. You're about to be a Grandpa. That will more than make up for the glasses thing.
Yep, that's true. Counsel duly noted. At least now, I won't be looking at The Boy Awesome through one eye or over tops of my readers at the end of my nose. Silver lining found!