Bunch of stuff been going down en mi vida right now, so here’s a general un-abstract post to fill you in. First things first, I got my eyeballs lasered, and I am now in recovery mode, which is a bit harder than I assumed it would be, as I am still working while healing.
Getting your eyes lasered is a bit scary sci-fi-ish, I won’t lie. They lay you down on a chair and douse your eyes in some solution to numb them. They were supposed to have given me valium but they forgot. I wished I’d had it. I was clutching the little stress balls they gave me and kicking my wee legs against the chair in silent protest. Anyway, then they tape up your eyelids and put something (a speculum, I believe it was called) around your eye to keep it open. Then your eye gets like sucked upwards or something, and you’re staring at this red light surrounded by concentric white circles, and it zaps like something out of a B movie, and you can smell your eyeballs burning. Yes, you can smell it, and it’s not pleasant. But that is not the worst of it. They then drop endless amounts of ice cold water into your freshly lasered eye. That was the worst part, for me. I was getting brain freeze from all the water being flooded into my eye socket.
But the whole debacle is over in a few minutes, so it’s not all that bad, really, other than being extremely uncomfortable and unnerving and disturbingly like a bad sci-fi movie. Then the real pain and discomfort begins. The rest of the day I spent popping vicodin and laying in the dark with my eyes closed, as they could not be opened, as they flooded endlessly with tears. The next day was more of the same, though I could keep my eyes open for slightly longer periods of time. I shuffled about with the big shades on that they gave me that made me look like Ray Charles. Then the next day I went back to work.
My eyes have been getting extremely dried out, which isn’t surprising, given that I work 10 hours a day with 3-4 hours on the subway, so I have to keep my eyes moisturized constantly. But the eyeballs are healing, slowly; meanwhile, I can’t see very well and I continue to look like Ray Charles. But it’s all worth it for the luxury of glassless-ness, folks. I can finally walk outside and put on my sunglasses, instead of squinting about and giving my aging skin crows legs.
Other news: my fiancee (I love throwing that word about; it seems to have a weight and heft to it that makes me sound conceited) and I have honed in on an apartment exactly one block away from the location where we are currently squatting. It gets tons of light, it’s relatively huge for a Manhattan apartment, and of course, it’s in a building without an elevator, meaning that we get plenty of exercise going up and down the six flights of stairs.
But we don’t have it yet. We just got all the extensive documentation prepared and put together for the property management nazis. A word on obtaining a space the size of a closet in New York City: it’s absolutely nothing like renting in California like I’m accustomed to. In California, you plop down a deposit and a months worth in rent and sign your name and there you go. They’ll kick you out if they don’t like you. But in New York, they require bank statements, tax forms, W-2’s, employment and salary verification, IDs, personal references, and a 5 page essay on your long-term goals and dreams. Well, minus the essay, they require a shitload of personal information, which is apparently because it’s nearly impossible for New York City landlords to boot you out once you’ve got a lease. Pain in the fucking arse, is all I’ve got to say. But as they like to say here, welcome to New York.
At my store in Queens I seem to be a space alien to people sometimes. They look at my name tag, note that I am from San Diego, and then proceed to exclaim with wonder at the fact that I exist and work in New York City. Seeming to forget that New York City is comprised of mostly foreign elements. Why the hell are you in New York? they all want to know. Implying that California is a land of paradise. Which granted, at times during my half hour walk from the train station to my workplace at 3 in the morning when it’s below freezing and the arctic wind is blasting through my puny three layers, it may appear to be.
Let’s discuss this cold further: it’s been really cold. Like, so cold that my toes in my shoes and socks begin to freeze. So cold, that the air penetrates my pantalones. So cold that it’s like walking out into a freezer. Welcome to New York, indeed. More like Welcome to Minnesota.
Anyway, I need to get off the computer, because it’s straining my still unfocused newly laser minted eyeballs. Another post will be forthcoming at some unknown date in the unforeseen future.