Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

#456: I NEVER THOUGHT I COULD FEEL QUITE LIKE THIS WITHOUT THE AID OF ILLEGAL INTOXICANTS

me in funky disposable sunglasses from the eye doctorI just got back from the optometrist. I am pretty impressed with myself, because I actually made it home.

The doctor's office is only four or five blocks from our apartment, but he put these drops in my eyes: one set of drops to anaesthetize my eyes, and another set to expand my pupils. The world has turned into a dazzling, bright place full of colours that shimmer and sidewalks that ripple and cars that come out of nowhere. I don't have the sense to make sure I have an escort home from these things, but I was sure that it would be easy peasy to make it the few blocks home.

At least, I thought that it would be easy peasy before I turned down the wrong street. My pupils are MASSIVE. There is only a thin sliver of colour left around my irises. This condition alone brings back a lot of the things I experienced in my halcion days of gross LSD consumption, such as an inability to read large street signs. Or find large street signs. Or cross the street at a crosswalk rather than fling myself into traffic mid-street. So, turning down the wrong street was terribly confusing.

Especially that part where there was suddenly a curb, and then some kind of post hit me in the shoulder, and then my purse flung itself around that post like a tetherball, and then I couldn't see what was wrong with it enough to undo it gracefully.

The best part, though, was when I finally got onto the right street, PHEW, and I decided to pop into the drugstore for some tortilla chips and salsa. I couldn't read any of the packaging, and I couldn't even make out the pictures on the packaging well enough to tell the potato chips from the tortilla chips. I must have been standing there for a really long time, because the cashier finally asked me if I was having any trouble with anything.

It was then that I realized I was kind of swaying while I stood there and then occasionally leaning in and mouthing what text I could make out. My behaviour plus these fantastic disposable windscreens, I mean sunglasses, must have made me look a little drugged out. And, in fact, I know that I looked drugged out, because I ran into a woman I know at the counter, and she said, Those are some mighty shades you got going on there. Making the most out of your vacation, are you?

Stumbling around with huge pupils, buying corn chips, and getting caught looking stoned in the drugstore is so 1994 for me.

At the present moment, I am sitting with my head about eight inches from the computer screen, still wearing my fabulous wraparounds, and experiencing a vague tipping feeling, as though my body is being magnetically drawn to the right.

That laundry I was going to do as soon as I got home? I tried looking for it in the bedroom, but it is entirely too confusing at this point. I think I am just going to relax on the sofa with my chips and salsa and yell at Dr. Phil on the tv.

It's just like being twenty-one again, only now it's way less cool, far less high, and sadly, Dr. Phil exists on television.