Saturday, March 24, 2007

My Warranty Ran Out - Part 1

Have you ever owned a car that, every time you drove it you discovered something else wrong with it? Monday it’s that squeak coming from the rear axel; Tuesday you notice a new, cryptic icon glowing amber on your console; Wednesday morning you find an odd-colored puddle under your car. Would it surprise you, in light of this scourge of problems, to discover your warranty had recently expired? That these problems were simply a manifestation of the car makers’ well-constructed ploy to provide every vehicle with time-sensitive, self-destructing parts?

Well I believe, just as with many of the cars I’ve owned, that my personal warranty has expired. It seems my maker, in all his or her wisdom, had also provided me with self-destructive parts. And, at the risk of making this blog a dumping ground for self-indulgent belly aching, I thought I’d take the next couple of episodes regale you in the events of the past week as they played out – day by excruciating day.

Monday, early AM – Had a dream that I was blind in one eye, and awoke to find my left eye open. Apparently it had been open some time; and as my dreams played in the theater of my mind, my Rapid Eye Movement caused my open eye to dance wildly, making physical contact with the pillow. Lost in sleep’s sweet slumber, I felt no pain nor was I awakened during the night. Waking to an eye that’s already open was whacky, almost amusing, but as the zaniness of the moment wore off, and I was forced to take that first blink, I was introduced to a pain that could only be described as ‘wicked.’ One hour of flushing the eye with saline was enough to re-hydrate the eye. During my lunch break I went to CVS and bought a sleep mask.

Tuesday, mid-day – Glanced in the bathroom mirror after a particularly important meeting to find dozens of black dots of various sizes covering my face and neck. It took a couple of minutes to realize that the pen I had been absent-mindedly flicking during the meeting had lost its end cap, thus transforming it into a very efficient ink gun. I wetted some paper towels, squirted some hand soap on them and started scrubbing. Some of the smaller dots disappeared, but the larger ones simply smeared into my skin. I rinsed, looked into the mirror, and noticed red splotches popping up like a pox from my hairline to my collar. Seems I was having an allergic reaction to the ink or the soap or caustic combination thereof. Another couple of rinses, and I stared stupefied at the deranged harlequin looking back at me. With three hours to go at work, I managed to stick to the shadows, and discovered how to make darkness my friend.

To be continued. . .