Drama Lessons from my Contacts

I have always had a flair for the dramatic. I clearly don't have the time to write about all of my dramatic escapades or attitudes, nor do I imagine you have the time to read about it, so we'll just leave it at that. Nevertheless, it shouldn't be the least bit surprising to find out that I have found a way to hone my acting skills from none other than my contact lenses. Seriously.

Prologue

I'll admit it: I was in major need of sight assistance for quite some time... and I managed to avoid going to the eye doctor for years. Seriously: years.

[Sidebar: this is an open apology to every person who drove on any road I happened to be also be driving on during evening hours when it was dark outside between the years of say.... 2004-2011. Sorry for any fear I may have caused you as I squinted, swerved, slowed down, and just all around sucked at driving because, let's be honest: I couldn't see anything. Sorry.]

It wasn't until my all-too-kind sister made me an appointment at her eye doctor that I caved and went... maybe because I knew that I had reached the point that I legitimately couldn't see anymore or maybe it was because I can't tolerate cancelling an appointment for anything.

The story goes as follows: I go to the eye doctor, get asked the inevitable question "So... why did it take you so long to come in?" to which I respond "Oh, you know, I've just been busy... [being nearly BLIND for years but hey: no biggie!]". The doctor prescribes me glasses - yes, glasses, as this is my first venture into prescription eye wear my eyes need to "get used to it" before I can wear contacts. Cue me devastated. Glasses?! For real?! How will anyone see it the awesome artistry of my eye makeup?! How am I going to wear sunglasses?! Who even wears actual glasses anymore?! But, after dramatically reflecting on it (and purchasing some amaze Juicy glasses), I decided me wearing glasses benefited the greater good so I may as well just suck it up and do it. Besides, I knew I'd be able to get contacts eventually.

Scene: a lovely October afternoon at the eye doctor's office. Enter Lisa.

The day has finally arrived: after months of wearing my glasses, bright, sunny days of me being blinded by the sun because I had my stupid glasses on instead of sunglasses, I am finally getting my contacts. I walk in, practically thrilled at the thought of putting the weird plastic half-bubble things into my eyes.

Sitting down at the table, looking in the mirror, the doctor walks me through how to put the contacts in, carefully and kindly detailing every movement, how to make sure you're putting them in with the right side out, how to clean them, so on and so forth. Nearly shaking with anticipation, my mind screaming "Just let me do it already! I've waited long enough! Let's do this!!", I get the word from the doctor "Okay, why don't you try to put them in?" and away we went.

As I started to put the contact in, I was beyond proud of my fearlessness about touching my eyeball, and obviously expected the doctor to be just as impressed. [Note: I did not need this kind of assistance.] I follow all of his instructions, and voila! It's in! I can see! Beaming with pride in my accomplishment, I literally start raising my arms to cheer about my success when the doctor ohsorudely interrupts me:
"Umm.... Lisa? The contact is still on your finger. You didn't get it in."

Well then. About seven - okay, fifteen - tries later, the contact was in and I could actually see. Yayyyyyy.

But there was a little problem: my spectacular failure at trying to get my contacts in the first time left me with a type of PTSD, so cue me spazzing out every time I tried to put my contacts in for the first week after that. Putting contacts in is a serious personal experience, as you're staring at JUST your face in a small mirror and no one else can really help [note: think twice before, say, asking your mother for help as you risk her using all the little things you've done to make her mad as motivation to practically poke your eye out], so you're left giving yourself little pep talks every morning to get the stupid contacts in. Or at least I was.

For those non-contact wearers, when you put your contacts in, there's a little liquid-solution left on the contact, so when it's finally on your eyeball and you blink it in, the solution will fall out like a teardrop. You're not actually crying, but it looks like you are, with these big, perfectly shaped, teardrops falling out of your eyes.

Once I caught on to this aspect of wearing contacts, I, being dramatic and all, took full advantage of it, and proceeded to use every morning as my own little drama class, pretending to cry every morning in the mirror as those teardrops gloriously rolled down my cheeks... and then I'd go and get ready for the day, good to go! It was a good way to get all my drama out of my system for the day... which is actually completely untrue as I'm pretty dramatic in everything I do, so on second thought: it was a great way to start my day dramatically.

Finale

Six months later, I can pop contacts in and out like it's nothing, and because of my mad-contact-putting-in-skills, there's no more teardrop. Alas, drama lessons have concluded. But all of you who know me know that I never cease to find the drama in every day life, morning drama class or not. B) [emoticon wearing glasses, as I am right now as I write this.]