Johnny’s Back in Town

Remember me?

I’m that girl who swore she would write a travel blog whilst abroad in London.

I’m also, unfortunately, also that girl who didn’t follow through on that promise very well.

But we can always begin again, can’t we? My life in the US won’t be full of London, but it will still be my life and I’m capable at least of writing about it like it is interesting.

Oh, and the titles I sometimes find through my itunes. It gives me something to go with.

I’ve got a set of CDs called, ‘Growin’ Up Too Fast’ filled with Girl Groups from the 50s and 60s. This is one of the songs on the album and I felt it was appropriate because I’m back in town. We won’t either of us mention that I’m not called ‘Johnny’ shall we?

I had some great pictures from the last few days in London but for some reason my memory card has decided to eat them. How it is possible for a memory card to both contain no images and be full is beyond me. What is real anyways? Oh which reminds me….

Today I went to the eye doctor. Out of the dentist, eye doctor, and primary care doctor, the former two tie and the latter has become rather mundane in the last couple years.

Yes, I am a 21-year-old who enjoys (and asks about) the fancy equipment.

Dad was going to take me to the DMV this morning at 8am to get my driver’s permit, but I haven’t adequately studied the manual.

I’m apparently also the young adult who gets up super early and the one who doesn’t want her license.  Be honoured we’re friends (or be glad we’re not).

I usually don’t ware my glasses because I’ve had them for many years, in fact they are the only pairs I’ve ever had, but they’ve been around since I was about 13 so understandably, they aren’t really my style anymore. But I wear them every so often, and today was one of those days. In my bag I tucked my current box of contact lenses and my other pair of (rather outdated) glasses and hustled out to the car.

Today’s appointment took place at Target. Usually we go to some other place that is its own animal, but today we happened to have signed me up here. There isn’t anything wrong with my eyes, so I suppose we didn’t need to do the whole fancy eye doctor’s office thing. Not that the guy here wasn’t qualified, because he was. I realise I’m painting this to be a somewhat atypical experience, but when you think about it, unless you’re doing the same thing daily, what is typical?

As I mentioned, I love the eye doctor. I love the little instruments, the easy to answer questions, checking to make sure I haven’t developed dyslexia the letter test. I don’t like the test with the big puff of air. I squinch up my nose and make quite a face in anticipation. This certain man made an entire minute of it; adjusting the thing and taking ages while I made what I imagine were rather ridiculous faces at him from the other side of the eye piece.

‘This won’t hurt at all. Much less than Final Exams,’ he assured me. My final exams were not very painful so either this was hardly noticeable or he was fibbing. Finally it came, and I withdrew my head a bit from the chin piece, as though the burst of air had sent my head wheeling backwards and my eyes back into my head.

‘one? or two?’ ‘A? or B?’ ‘First? or Second?’ He asked me. I answered accordingly, more worried about identifying the letters correctly than I was about making sure I could see them. He pronounced my vision the same as ever; 20/20 in my left eye, abysmal (2.25) in my right. As he wrote my prescription, that strange little quirk bug I have itched at me to ask him some odd question. There must be something about me that simply cannot resist making an odd spectacle of myself in public (no pun intended) So it was understandable therefore, that this was the next thing that came out of my mouth:

‘So, what can you tell me about the difference between our perception of images and the way they are received into our brains?’

Mr. Eye Doctor gave pause to writing and looked up briefly, most likely a bit surprised I’d asked. ‘Well,’ he began, and motioned his arms around, demonstrating different rays of light and lines of vision. I nodded, and asked him whether it meant that reality was not as we thought and that we were living upside down.

Gravity, I noted, is not at all what we thought.

He told me I was philosophical as Mom laughed.

No new glasses as of yet, but I was glad to find that my eyes are perfectly healthy. I’ve got my eye on something like this:

specity specs

or these

But my aspirations to look like an old woman/person from another century are for another day.

Love, Hannah


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