One of my eyes cries on its own. My right eye. In the slightest breeze or the hint of a chilly morning.
Those are the words from the very start of this blog. It’s still true, and probably getting worse now. I find it quite amusing to see that I refer to a chilly morning in this opening. That’s proof that it was written way back when I was working, and walking two miles along the Thames to the office every weekday. Now, it would be fairly unlikely to see me venture outside very far in the morning, at least not so stupid early as I used to do.
In these Corona times, I have failed to get any treatment for my crying eye condition. (Note – Covid can be used as an excuse for anything. I’m pretty sure I was not getting round to sorting this out regardless of world pandemic status.)
So, now the cold air has returned, I am quite definitely back to right-eye leaking at the slightest breath of wind. And not just when I have been violated with a speculum. Or taken by surprise by Andrew Scott and his whispering Shylock. (You need to read all my blog posts to understand me sometimes. Although in fairness I often repeat myself so it’s possible to muddle through sometimes…)
Should I worry that I’ve not really moved on in the past few years? Or take comfort from my acceptance of, and enduring ability to laugh at, myself?
I’ll go with the latter. Too much else to worry about right now.
Now… where’s that hanky?