see you later, then.
In this freeze-dried environment my face felt useless and detached. The way that the air assaulted my eyes and then left them to dry, my eyelids quickly became stained with a contaminated, scratching feeling. My eyes dragged and stumbled in a losing battle and my eyelids did a real shitty job of calming them down. I pushed a button to stop the influx of dirty air, but the uncomfortable state of my eyes remained. Goddamn air conditioning.
Technique was paramount now. I closed one eye, the right one, and pressed tightly against the lid with my right hand. I relaxed my hand and began blinking furiously and uncontrollably. I swerved towards the median strip and then back between the lines. I said my "fucks" and "shits" with the appropriate mutters and growls. I knew I'd used the wrong words to express my frustration and it just made the situation worse. The things I had spat out about depth perception had little to do with my lack of focus on the road, but that scapegoat came to mind and so it escaped my throat in an attempt to placate my suddenly fiery face.
This was a miserably quarantined embarrassment - sequestered in a car with no circulation, now fearful of the air conditioning and outright terrified of the windows descending. I was agitated with my reactions and the situation; the discomfort made a home in my cheekbones and chest and in my still-irritated eyes. With cheeks hot like a cliche, my chest swelled with contextualized concession.
The involuntary eye-watering that followed after I lost my shit alleviated most of the initial eye issues, making the entire situation seem counterfeit. My eyes were still burning and the road was still blurred but the swerving and the swearing and the self-consciousness came off like a choice. That was the worst goddaamn part.
Well fuck feeling like that. Either the contacts go or driving does. I guess I'll move somewhere like New York and never worry about driving again. My ticket's booked for Thursday.
Technique was paramount now. I closed one eye, the right one, and pressed tightly against the lid with my right hand. I relaxed my hand and began blinking furiously and uncontrollably. I swerved towards the median strip and then back between the lines. I said my "fucks" and "shits" with the appropriate mutters and growls. I knew I'd used the wrong words to express my frustration and it just made the situation worse. The things I had spat out about depth perception had little to do with my lack of focus on the road, but that scapegoat came to mind and so it escaped my throat in an attempt to placate my suddenly fiery face.
This was a miserably quarantined embarrassment - sequestered in a car with no circulation, now fearful of the air conditioning and outright terrified of the windows descending. I was agitated with my reactions and the situation; the discomfort made a home in my cheekbones and chest and in my still-irritated eyes. With cheeks hot like a cliche, my chest swelled with contextualized concession.
The involuntary eye-watering that followed after I lost my shit alleviated most of the initial eye issues, making the entire situation seem counterfeit. My eyes were still burning and the road was still blurred but the swerving and the swearing and the self-consciousness came off like a choice. That was the worst goddaamn part.
Well fuck feeling like that. Either the contacts go or driving does. I guess I'll move somewhere like New York and never worry about driving again. My ticket's booked for Thursday.