2. remove contact and notice: huh. weird. vision still messed up. maybe I just need to sleep it off.
3. wake up at 3 am in excruciating pain.
4. take a shower. try to sleep. worry I'm probably going to go blind. make a plan.
5. at 8 am, Run myself to the ER.
6. start comparing the pain to giving birth. realize vision is totally deteriorating. begin to (mildly, just on the inside) freak the fuck out. try to figure out how I'll ambush the doctor if I can't see him. focus on developing my "other senses."
7. ER doc dumps freezing-drops into my eye. Offer him a blowjob if he'd let me have some of that god juice for later.
8. get to see my "impressive" infection. feel the pain relief wearing off. panic.
9. 10:00 am: fill the "every two hour application" prescription. Bust it home and take ALL the pain meds I can. In one hour begin to beg and count minutes until I can have more.
10. make deals with non-existent entities re: I will never ever ever abuse my contact wearing again.
11. take to bed since I can't open my eyes.
12. 4 pm: start designing my glass eye.
13. get invited to a New Year's party. State "I'LL BE THERE" if I'm not having eye removal surgery. imagine myself at the party with a healed eye. imagine I'll feel incredible.
14. 6:00 pm: notice I've stopped calling everyone I know begging for oxycodon.
15. 8:39 pm: I can open my eye! make a sandwich. feel optimistic about survival. begin to worry about narcotic constipation.
16. Oh I forgot: get caught wearing an eye patch in public. feel proud.
17. Rewrite motto from shop till you drop to shop till you go blind.