Let me explain. Recently I went on a vacation to sunny California for some much needed mental convalescence. One morning I woke early, and when I realized that I would never be able to fall back to sleep, I cursed La Quinta and went out to take a dip in the pool. I’m not able to move with the endurance I had when I was a kid. Even swimming from one side of a pool to the other is more difficult now. But I do have an advantage that I did not have when I was young. My eyes are so useless that it no longer frightens me to open them as I flail through cocktails of chlorinated piss and acid rain. But on that morning I had not anticipated La Quinta’s prolific concentration of the two, and I rose from the water furiously smearing the bite from my eyes.
Unbeknownst to me, I popped up on the right side of the pool. I looked around at the world as it throbbed, and then in front of me, up at a third story window that caught my attention. I did not know if the woman in the window was fresh out of the shower, or if she had just finished with a man in her bed, but I do know that I stared too long. I couldn’t quite decide what the blur was that I was looking at until it suddenly ducked down and took up a cover, or possibly a towel, and darted off like a doe from a monster truck. Joke’s on her, though, because only you and I will ever know that I can’t see shit without my glasses. Except for fuzzy people. And that’s what you get from treadmill-induced concussions.