Comfort Zones
I think my glasses are a comfort zone. Not that I can't see better with them (at least in reading the fine print) and not that being without them when I'm trying to work doesn't distract me because I spend my time thinking, "Gosh, why is the screen so, um, weird?" when I could be thinking, "what's Spence going to do next?"
But really, I think they are what I expect. They are part of my extended sense of self, the me I am comfortable with. I think this must extend to other people, too, because my mother even seems to think I look weird without my glasses. But maybe it's best we don't go there.
Suffice to say, tomorrow or the next day, I get an 'interim' lens and I will, I hope, be able to get back on Spence without thinking how weird the screen looks and how naked my eyes feel, and that will be a good thing.
I am aware of other comfort zones, too. Walking dogs is in my comfort zone. Just walking without a dog is not. It used to be -- pre-dogs -- but not anymore. I watched Alias tonight and Michael Vartan was back and I felt like the world (Alias's world anyway) had righted itself at last. The other shoe seemed at last to have dropped. It is still weird and half the time doesn't seem to make much sense (why, for example, did that stupid girl Peyton tell Sloan that the Sydney lookalike was really Anna Espinosa? Why not let him think Sydney had gone over to the dark side? It only makes sense. But apparently making sense is not a big issue here). But at least Michael Vartan was back and I, for one, breathed a sigh of relief.
I have a uncomfortable zone in genealogy right now that I've been skirting around far too long because I don't know quite how to approach it. Probate records, pre-1858, in England are not as easy to track down as they are after that date. They could have been proved in this court or that, be filed in this place or that. And while I'm planning on getting them all through the Family History Center near where I live -- on microfilm -- I still have to figure out which microfilms. And this is making my head swim. I've done it once -- successfully -- and you would think I'd know how to do it now. But I can't remember how I did it. And I've even taken a course in probate records. So . . . as soon as I get my glasses and have one comfort zone re-established, I'll be tackling this.
Come to think of it, that's probably why I can't write. Exploring new territory with Spence and Sadie is like exploring the unknown. Doing it without glasses is doubly stressful. Like being in the jungle, beset by alligators, and not quite able to see them until they leap up and go "chomp!"
Well, maybe not quite.
But that's what it feels like right now.
But really, I think they are what I expect. They are part of my extended sense of self, the me I am comfortable with. I think this must extend to other people, too, because my mother even seems to think I look weird without my glasses. But maybe it's best we don't go there.
Suffice to say, tomorrow or the next day, I get an 'interim' lens and I will, I hope, be able to get back on Spence without thinking how weird the screen looks and how naked my eyes feel, and that will be a good thing.
I am aware of other comfort zones, too. Walking dogs is in my comfort zone. Just walking without a dog is not. It used to be -- pre-dogs -- but not anymore. I watched Alias tonight and Michael Vartan was back and I felt like the world (Alias's world anyway) had righted itself at last. The other shoe seemed at last to have dropped. It is still weird and half the time doesn't seem to make much sense (why, for example, did that stupid girl Peyton tell Sloan that the Sydney lookalike was really Anna Espinosa? Why not let him think Sydney had gone over to the dark side? It only makes sense. But apparently making sense is not a big issue here). But at least Michael Vartan was back and I, for one, breathed a sigh of relief.
I have a uncomfortable zone in genealogy right now that I've been skirting around far too long because I don't know quite how to approach it. Probate records, pre-1858, in England are not as easy to track down as they are after that date. They could have been proved in this court or that, be filed in this place or that. And while I'm planning on getting them all through the Family History Center near where I live -- on microfilm -- I still have to figure out which microfilms. And this is making my head swim. I've done it once -- successfully -- and you would think I'd know how to do it now. But I can't remember how I did it. And I've even taken a course in probate records. So . . . as soon as I get my glasses and have one comfort zone re-established, I'll be tackling this.
Come to think of it, that's probably why I can't write. Exploring new territory with Spence and Sadie is like exploring the unknown. Doing it without glasses is doubly stressful. Like being in the jungle, beset by alligators, and not quite able to see them until they leap up and go "chomp!"
Well, maybe not quite.
But that's what it feels like right now.
posted by Anne McAllister at 8:21 PM
1 Comments:
My brother wore glasses for the longest time but then he had that laser eye surgery and didn't need them anymore. It was relly wierd seeing him without his glasses cause we were so used to it.
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