Cataracted

For a couple of years now I haven't been able to get a good lens prescription for my left eye. It had come to the point that trying to read a computer screen had my head bobbing back and forth on my neck like a myopic turkey. I finally gave up on the local KiddieVision Collective, seemingly manned (or girled, as it were) by a bunch of twenty-something recent graduates from the Eye Think Eye Can! Academy, and went back to the man who prescribed my first pair of glasses 41 years ago. It was a 90 minute drive each way, but well worth it. He peered into my left eye for five seconds and pronounced "Yup. You've got a cataract."

Ah, the joys of aging.

I won't even plumb the depths of why the Scrappy Doo Visionary Center couldn't see this giant milky thing in the middle of my goddamned eye. Like fully half the people I encounter on a daily basis, they're just willfully and proudly incompetent. That's what our "education" system has produced for our society over the last twenty years and it ain't getting any better. It's become a race between a natural death and societal collapse. Not exactly how I had envisioned (see what I did there?) my retiring years.

Anyway, I now have to get my eyes cut open this January, which prospect fills me with joy. And of course my crappy post-Obamacare insurance is only going to pay for one eye, since the cataract in the other eye isn't "fully mature" -- as if it were going to suddenly go away or something. So, out with the checkbook. That seems to be the story of life, does it not? When you're young, you have no money. When you're old, you have the money but you spend it all on doctors instead of hookers and booze. I swear this fucking campaign world was designed by a sadist.