When I was about 12 years old, my eye doctor told me that I’d need glasses one day, but not until I was 40. When you’re 12 years old, you can’t comprehend 40 — heck, it’s hard to comprehend 13. Still, it was something that always stuck in the back of my head as reality — one day, I’d need glasses.
Then, last year, I found out that I needed frickin’ lasers shot into my frickin’ eyes. At the time the diagnosis was made, it was already apparent that age was catching up to me, and that my vision — compounded from nearly 30 years in front of a computer monitor — was finally beginning to lose its finesse. But I stayed in denial, and stuck to my “when I’m 40” belief, and marched on with life.
That was until this year. The time has come.