Sometimes getting old is embarrassing. Take the for instance that I reading my own writing for writers’ group feeling impossible. You see, my specs are many, but the vision is bad.
The top pair are readers that my husband picked up. They have little lights. They work for close work, fine yarn knitting. But my tracking for actual reading still doesn’t work with them.
The middle pair are the prescribed pair from a couple years ago. For my far or right eye, they seem to help for some things; I can actually read things on the television. The left eye feels these are a waste of time. When I take the dog out and look far away, I see halos around lights that look like Ferris wheels. Fun for my inner child that would love a carnival here in the middle of nowhere. By the way, without glasses, I can…
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