Contact!

Meg wears contacts.  Her male counterpart rarely does.  This is probably due to the fact that I can't wear them for long periods and I'd usually want to put them on in the morning and take them off at night and I don't want to have to take them off during the day.

Plus, as Meg, I can carry a contact case, my glasses, and contact solution in my purse.  That's no so easy when in drab.

Meg's baby blues

The contacts are supposed to be good for a month.  When I got them, I told the optometrist that I didn't wear them every day; she said I should wear them for as long as they're good.  I pressed for something more specific and she said "you'll know; things will get fuzzy."

Well, I don't know and I probably keep the contacts way too long.

A couple of outings ago, I came home and removed my shoes and wig and contacts, in that order.

The first contact came out fairly easily, except it bounced out of my fingers and leapt away.  I started looking in the sink, on the counter, on the carpet, even on myself to see if it stuck to me.

No sign of the lens.

I figured this was a sign that it's time to change lenses and I tossed the other one out.

The next time I went out, I opened a new pack of lenses and they felt good and I had a nice, clear night out.  I came home and was about to pop out my lenses when I noticed something small and almost clear on the wall.  I have no idea how it decided to not only hit the wall but cling there, but I still believe something was trying to tell me to get new lenses and that the only way I'd switch was for the current lens to hide.

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