Do the Helen Keller

by melissakiefer

Somewhere I picked up a little saying. You know how some people sarcastically respond, “I’d rather have a root canal” than                         .  Other people say they’d rather watch paint dry. Watch grass grow. Eat worms. My saying has been the same for years. For example:

When students asked if I’d spend my night grading their research papers…I’d whine dramatically, But I’d rather poke myself in the eye than grade a hundred research papers.

When Josh asked if wanted to call coyotes in single-digit temperatures…I nodded fake- enthusiastically then bluntly responded, actually I’d rather poke my eye out.

Do I want to help butcher deer this weekend? No thanks. Can I poke myself in the eye instead?

Hey honey, blah blah blah  money, oil wells, drilling, stocks, investing, debt, bills, tighten budget blah blah….Sorry, didn’t catch any of that. Busy poking my finger in my eye.

 Do I want to watch a dumb guy movie for the eighteenth time this month? No. I’d rather continuously poke myself in the eyeball.

Time to do inventory. Time to go poke myself in the eye.

I’d rather poke out both my eyes than live in Woodbine.

 I take it all back. I didn’t know the magnitude of my silly sarcasm which always bought a few laughs.  

Scratching your eyeball hurts like hell. It doesn’t feel like a splinter or a speck. It feels like an entire log. An entire tree. (Matthew chapter 7, anyone?). With poky branches shooting waves of pain. And when I get waves of pain or nervousness, I never fail to puke all over everything. Migraine? Sprained ankle? Interview for the best teaching job ever at Memorial High School? Overwhelmed about moving forward into grad school? Scratch on the cornea? Vomit.

My right eye (the one I poked with my own fingernail as I was attempting to scratch the side of my nose and missed while in the bathtub reading Redbook) is my dominate eye. I can close my left eye and keep my right eye open (You probably knew that because I like to wink at people), but I can’t open my left eye unless my right eye is open.

Now seems like a good time to remind you that I’m practically deaf. I depend on my eyes to read people’s lips. So picture a squinty, sunglass-wearing-indoors-and-at-night, puking, deaf, hot mess blindly tripping over random objects.

My hilarious sister now calls me Helen Keller. I needed a comeback and almost told her to go poke herself in the eye. But I didn’t. I don’t wish that discomfort on anyone.