It's confirmed. The hapless likelihood that age brings upon man has fallen on me. I am half blind. Well, not really half blind. That's just what I feel right now. What I used to observe from "40 something and up" people who couldn't read lines up close without a reading glass is now the predicament of my wretched self. And this tragedy has occurred to me a few days before I turned a year older. While others got it at half past forty, it came to me way too early.
It's one of the saddest development of my reading life. I couldn't imagine bidding adieu to my books in the shelf and what about the ones I have yet to enjoy of course. It's a dull existence, no doubt. And I hate eye glasses. But what can I complain about? I just borrowed these things that I usually call my own. This and many other things. I probably would have to trust this help they call eye glasses. The longer I delay wearing a pair of these spectacles the worse my eyes have become. It's a fuzzy world really. But while the eye glasses are yet to come I'll enjoy the mist around and probably write a line or two about the darker corner where strange shapes and lights reside.
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