Mishandled


As I type this, my left eye waters and my right eye twitches.

Nearly five days of intense light sensitivity. Retina-searing, even.


Every screen I use for work/writing has been de-brightened, de-blue-lighted, or decommissioned altogether.


I wear sunglasses in the kitchen. (When you’re as bad of a cook as I am, one doesn’t need to see what one is doing, anyway.)


I wear sunglasses while doing laundry (stain? What stain?).


I wear sunglasses while I work. (I hope that works out…)


Wearing sunglasses in the grocery store? It must appear to others that I’m coming off some wild bender. Add to that the mask, and I’m sure I flag suspicion on the security cameras.


I’ve taken to throwing blankets on the floor to dull the sun’s morning rays, lest my walk from the office to the garage blind me further. The cats aren’t sure what to think about this. They enjoy those rays, their furry bodies soaking up the UV. They also enjoy the blankets on the floor. I’ll have lots of laundry after this is over.


Still working on the cause of the matter. I got the all-clear from Eye Guy just last month. So, I’m leaning toward something else.


The first theory was migraine headache. I did have a little pain. A little nausea, then a lot of pain and a lot of nausea, then back to only blinding glare from any reflective surface. Like Eye Guy snuck into my bedroom Saturday night and dilated my pupils without my permission. (Wouldn’t that make for a creepy horror story???)


The second theory was a bad startup of fall allergies with the harvest. Our area has been so dry that there’s more dust kicking up than usual. And the weather has been so gorgeous that I’ve had the windows open round-the-clock enjoying not paying for climate control. More dust inside. More dry air, etc., etc. So I’ve started my little pink allergy pill, which comes with its own few days of adjusting to “medicine head” and extreme thirst.


And, on the off chance that my little thyroid gland is tap dancing in my neck, I had a blood draw at the Local Lab. But the Far-Off Lab called me the next day. “Your specimen was mishandled. We’ll need to do that again.”


I liked the way the Far-Off Gal put that. “Mishandled.” Not lost. Not dropped. Not left out on the counter too long.


Mishandled. Leaving the possibilities wide open should I decided to pursue legal action…


Little Miss Muse liked the “mishandled” angle and began thinking up one-thousand-and-one ways to “mishandle” a tube of blood. Out came the bottle rockets. And the lighter. Which I beg her to put away because I can’t handle the lights right now. Dull the sparkle a bit, Little Miss, just until this is over.


Mishandled specimen.


Well. Gee.


What choice did I have but to get another stick?


So Local Lab draws more tubes to send to Far-Off Lab (each place blaming the other place for the mishap, I’m sure). And to be on the safe side, Local Lab Gal drew more tubes than needed to appease Far-Off Lab.


Local Lab Gal reassuringly tells me that they’ll let me know what happens to all those extra “unused” tubes. Like I’m gonna lose sleep over it. It’s not like I want it back. You know, once certain things are out of the package, the resale value goes way down…


Or maybe they believe I have a stockpile on my pantry shelf. (Another horror story writing prompt, I do believe. Or maybe sci-fi. Unless I’ve got dragon DNA in my blood, then we could go fantasy, too.)


Now my right eye is watering and my left lid is twitching, so time to wrap it up, give both orbs a rest from the screen…


…and hope Little Miss Muse doesn’t run off too far chasing her own twisted storylines of evil optometrists and mishandled specimens while I’m too blind to chase her.



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