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Queen Mab Stole My Left Eye From Me

May 23, 2011

Last Sunday, I awoke to a very strange surprise. I placed my glasses upon my head to find that my left lens was missing. I quickly looked around my bedroom to find that it was not within sight. I then checked under my bed before moving to other rooms of the house. Now while it is true that the night before I had celebrated my birthday at a bar, and I may have imbibed more than I should have, I still had a complete memory of the previous evening; I had left the bar in the wee hours of the morning with my glasses fully intact, walked through the rain without incident, and finally arrived home where I disrobed and went to bed. As far as I, and anyone else, can remember nothing happened to my glasses. Still, there they were the left lens missing.

I then tore apart my entire apartment looking for the lens only to find it nowhere in the vicinity. I called up the bar, and no one had discovered anything and when I returned later in the week, people that had worked that night did not recall anything happening to my glasses. Therefore, I was resigned to finally filling a prescription that my optometrist had only barely remembered to provide me with last year.

Being one of the few people doomed to a specific eye glasses prescription, I had to journey back in time to a guild optician. Luckily, the J Train is outfitted with a flux capacitor that would allow me to journey to Fulton Street a century previous, when there were fewer cars roaming the tighter streets, and the bowler hat was still fashionable. Exiting the cramped elevator, I was able to meet the gentleman who having mastered his family’s tradition of grinding lenses from glass and fitting them into metal frames would be able to provide me with my new pair of glasses. I gave him my contact information, and ensured that it was correct before returning to the future.

However, the troubles of the week were not over. Storm clouds rolled over the land, dousing the city in torrential rain. When this rain reached its peak on Wednesday I was busily trying to purchase groceries during one of the brief dry spells only to discover that my debit card had once more been hacked by pirates in cyberspace. I stormed across Williamsburg to the Capital One on the other side of the BQE and straightened everything out. It will still be several days before I obtain a new card, though they have outfitted me with a temporary replacement that makes even the simple act of obtaining money from an ATM difficult.

The days passed and I was still without sight. This isn’t a problem in most day-to-day activities; I can still walk around, ride the subway, and watch humorous videos. It does make reading and writing extremely difficult though, as my eyes have trouble focusing on letters for anything beyond a short period of time. While this did give me more reason to stay out later and hit as many open mics as possible, it hit me hard in my desire to blog, write, send emails, and chat with people over various instant messaging services. The weekend however was filled with activities that did not require my precise vision, which at least alleviated some of my problems.

Then came today when I once again did not receive any phone calls from the guild optician. While I do understand that cross-temporal calls can be difficult, certainly my suggestion that he leave a message with Western Union for the next century to be delivered to my address in one hundred years would have still sufficed. In frustration, I called him expecting to hear some excuse as to why it was still not ready. Instead, I found out that somehow the telephone number he had written down was off by one number in the area code and he had been trying to reach me for some time. He had written down 709 as opposed to my 703, which means that some friendly Newfie has been very confused this past week, eh?

So I journeyed through the mystical time portal that exists somewhere between the Chambers Street and Fulton Street subway stops and finally obtained my new pair of spectacles. Still, I was hoping that once I had them that one of those classic ‘only-find-it-when-you-don’t-need-it’ situations would occur with my left lens. It didn’t. Which leads me to wonder what had happened. Perhaps I had stumbled about in my sleep and the lens had somehow fallen into the toilet while I was in the twilight between the waking world and dreams. Though that seems unlikely not only because of its improbability but also because in such a state I’d be even more likely to plunge my hand into my own waste to retrieve it, likewise for a drunken haze. What’s more improbable than this? An extra-dimensional being such as a faerie took it to teach me some sort of lesson, or merely delight in my torture. This might explain the other week’s events of a debit card hack, and the number my optician wrote down being wrong. Still that seems pretty ridiculous.

However when the probable is eliminated, we are left only with the improbable.

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