There are many bad things about suddenly having with x-ray vision; high up there being that you cannot see books. I was happily in the middle of Gormenghast when it happened. I had to wait an agonisingly long time to discover the conclusion (though, largely, it should be admitted, because I stubbornly refused the audiobook).
Artworks have become a mess as all versions and corrections, and sometimes another painting altogether, appear together with the finished piece. I am forced to see something unintended which, though interesting in its own right, has, quite simply, taken a former pleasure away.
So too with football. I could go and sit among the sedentary skeletons to watch the athletic ones but without a ball it has become a horrific parody of Spot the Ball.
On and on I could complain about it destroying one thing or another- like not being able to see food; I can find it with my lovely clear cutlery (or less clear hands) but find it difficult to eat without help. But I don’t like to complain because I really don’t think this is as bad as being blind, yet it does still cause horrible and painful problems- those things beyond everyday complications like trying to get from A to B when walls and other obstacles blend into your path.
Because one of the worst things about being afflicted with x-ray vision is that I find it near impossible to recognise anyone. I’ve had to try and rely on voice and gait recognition, the configuration of metal objects within clothes and pockets or constellations of piercings and fillings. Indeed, Samantha’s braces is sometimes the only way I can tell the twins apart.
The worst thing, though, is trying to be intimate. Not being able to properly see my wife’s face, arms, or any part of her skin, means that I often press too hard or stop short when I try to stroke her face or arms, or kiss her lips. I feel emasculated in the way that she has to lead that part of our life.
Again, there are worse hardships than this. And, in time, I should learn. But I miss her face. All faces. I feel like all I look at is death. But you have to laugh, though, haven’t you? To find the comic side in everything. To imagine Funnybones rather than The Evil Dead, and to learn to enjoy life once more, in this new way that I see it. If I can’t find it, I’ll go insane.
Artworks have become a mess as all versions and corrections, and sometimes another painting altogether, appear together with the finished piece. I am forced to see something unintended which, though interesting in its own right, has, quite simply, taken a former pleasure away.
So too with football. I could go and sit among the sedentary skeletons to watch the athletic ones but without a ball it has become a horrific parody of Spot the Ball.
On and on I could complain about it destroying one thing or another- like not being able to see food; I can find it with my lovely clear cutlery (or less clear hands) but find it difficult to eat without help. But I don’t like to complain because I really don’t think this is as bad as being blind, yet it does still cause horrible and painful problems- those things beyond everyday complications like trying to get from A to B when walls and other obstacles blend into your path.
Because one of the worst things about being afflicted with x-ray vision is that I find it near impossible to recognise anyone. I’ve had to try and rely on voice and gait recognition, the configuration of metal objects within clothes and pockets or constellations of piercings and fillings. Indeed, Samantha’s braces is sometimes the only way I can tell the twins apart.
The worst thing, though, is trying to be intimate. Not being able to properly see my wife’s face, arms, or any part of her skin, means that I often press too hard or stop short when I try to stroke her face or arms, or kiss her lips. I feel emasculated in the way that she has to lead that part of our life.
Again, there are worse hardships than this. And, in time, I should learn. But I miss her face. All faces. I feel like all I look at is death. But you have to laugh, though, haven’t you? To find the comic side in everything. To imagine Funnybones rather than The Evil Dead, and to learn to enjoy life once more, in this new way that I see it. If I can’t find it, I’ll go insane.
Written for Light and Shade Challenge from both the following picture prompt and the written prompt, which was "If we couldn't laugh, we would all go insane" - Jimmy Buffet
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