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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Off the Cuff / My Other Journal #543704 added October 23, 2007 at 10:45am
Restrictions: None
Eye Doctor, Again!
Can we just purchase fake eyes and use them? Maybe someday, but obviously not in my life time.
After the two operations, the right eye still isn’t good enough and the whole thing slows down my writing; slows down my life. At this age for me, other than the dictates of the years, any more slowing down is something hard to take.
Anyhow, the doctor--after doing some weird stuff with drops, lasers, light sabers and other hocus pocus--fit me with different prescription glasses this time and...nothing for the computer. Aaaaargh!
So, I will be writing behind a cloud again or with a magnifier as I have been doing the last few months. I am hoping these glasses, when they are ready, will be good enough, so I can pressure the doctor into giving me glasses for the computer. I know I sound like I am ranting, and I am, although I try to keep from ranting over personal matters, but sight is important and I just can’t help myself today.
On the funny or maybe not so funny side, I spent at least four hours in the doctor’s office with poor hubby waiting for me in the waiting room. In the waiting room, they have a plasma TV high on the wall. That should be a boon, right?
Nope, patients or their companions do not get regular TV channels on it; or maybe they can, but what plays on and on is a seven minute tape (I timed it) on the positives of cataract implants. Okay, not so bad, you might think, but the same tape blares with no break in between its takes.
Imagine waiting for someone in that room for four hours being subjected to the same tape playing over and over. One wishes one could be deaf. You’d think the doctor worked in a torture-training camp. And we blame the CIA! Fellas, clean up the torture in the waiting rooms first.
A hilarious sight was where the other people were concerned, hubby tells me. Some went outside and waited on the sidewalk. Others kept a pained expression on their faces. Some complained to the girl behind the glass divider. The girl told them she has to live with this every day, also, and she has learned to avoid it. “Don’t pay attention to it,” she said. Jeez, he does it to his workers, too! 
Believe me, in the waiting rooms, I want no TV, no entertainment, no clown pulling rabbits out of his own ears. Forget the hat; it is passé. I can bring my own entertainment; even when I can’t read a book, I can bring music that only I can hear without bothering others.
I’ll even take the long hours the health care officials makes us wait. Just please, do not disturb the peace.
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© Copyright 2007 Joy-Happy 25, WdC! (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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