Serial no 18 Moving

So picture this.

It’s Christmas night and you’re under the influence. Okay by you, I mean me. Heavily. But come on, it’s Christmas.

And I’m dressed to the nines and wearing contacts for like the fourth, maybe fifth time.

I’m watching cartoons with the kids downstairs. Too adulty upstairs for me. Chilling with nieces, nephews and my own blood teenagers. Including my step loves adopted by my marriage.

So we all laying on the couches. Full of turkey albeit half raw. But hey you soak enough jelly on the rubbery flesh and you can’t really tell what’s pink, purple or indifferent.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, chilling watching toons, the couch is super comfy and I’m melting into it. Spongebob does wonders on the telly when youre influenced. Or me. I mean me.

Influenced by what you ask? Premixed rum and eggnog with an extra shot or two of uncles spiced rum added. Some concoction. Certainly made moments of spongebob seem better.

The colors, the comics, the jokes, the smokes. No it’s just jokes. Relax.

Ugh. I’m loosing my spot again.

Long story short, I rubbed my eyeball and tore my contact half out of my peeper. Literally. The soft film of 50% of the newly purchased contact say happily free and wild on my index finger.

Fuck.

The light in the newly built house I sat in was not good. Not even acceptable enough to wipe your ass.

I had no choice but to wait, with half a contact living in my eyeball. Yup, it hung out in there for two solid days.

Had to wait for the eye doctors to open. Christmas holidays right!? So I wait and half an hour before they open I start to get ready.

I’m washing my face now, and I get this overwhelming feeling that I have to sneeze.

You know how it happens. soap in the nose. The tickle, the need and it sticks. Legitimately gets stuck!

So I tilt my head in the mirror and look up my nostril.

There’s blood, and my right nostril seems unnaturally large. A bone from the middle bridge broke off and sat dangerously diagonal and precariously skewered the contact lense.

I pull it out, blink and wake up from the gore of my nose.

My phone alarm is screaming at me.

What the fuck?

I’m groggy, taking in the time and date on my phone as it glared at me. Yes, this happened right after. Stay with me on this one, damn.

True story, I wouldn’t lie. Are you still with me?

The date on my phone is then telling me it’s Christmas Eve. I hit snooze and dropped my phone back down.

At this point my head grew fuzzy with the details of the dream. Like they normally do, images dropping off and melting together. The vibrancy of Squidward wiping off the ick from Spongebob, it became less real.

Soon after I was convinced Christmas night was a dream, and my grotesque large nostril was just a nightmare. Shortly from that my phone screamed again with what I originally thought was my alarm.

I went to hit snooze and saw a number I didn’t recognize. “Hello?” I croaked into the handpiece.

“Oh hi Jacqueline, it’s Dr Louis, from Neat Optometry. I was just calling to check up on you. With your eye, and the broken contact?”

He asked how my eye was, I replied saying “No, I don’t think I’m alright” before I hung up the phone. I’m still staring at the date on my phone. It’s not moving.

True story, bra. I wouldn’t lie to you.

Liard HotSpring, so gorgeous I’ll give two pics this post -NR
Okay maybe one more 🙂

I’m going back in two weeks (to Liard) and I don’t have a pic of an eyeball. Or fucked up nose.

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