Si j’étais vous…
… I would be able to finish this sentence in French. As things are, I can still read certain things and ask about the restroom. If I were her, I would be quite shameless in decorating my apartment with Elliott Erwitt’s portraits of myself. I wonder if de Beauvoir had a secret room where she retired to absorb them in narcissistic abandon.
As an existentialist, she might have discarded the temptation that I would probably act upon: to haunt him sometimes as a punishment for publishing all those photo albums about dogs after my demise.
My presentation on America Day by Day already done and delivered, I will reread The Second Sex and leave Mr. Erwitt in peace. Note to self: keep growing the hair, get an interesting necklace and shawl, and practice elegantly nonchalant occupation of uncomfortable chairs.
Hope in the Left Eye
Heidelberg has an astounding concentration of physicians per square kilometer, with no shortage of ophthalmologists. Most of them were on vacation yesterday.
I understand that it was a stupid choice on my part to get stye just before the long weekend, when everyone should be having fun in the sun and seeing the world without distortions. If I had had any doubts about it, the annoyed tone of the receptionist at the university clinic made it blindingly clear to me.
I used to naively believe that it was Communism that turned people in petty power positions into condescending bastards. I should thank that lady for the cultural lesson: it’s petty power that makes you a petty official.
Eventually, I found a workaholic doctor who saw me even though I came some two minutes before his lunch break. I learned that apart from the infection I have more or less perfect vision. My left eye (the good one) can fly planes and solve 3D puzzles, the right one (attacked by stye aka Gerstenkorn aka jęczmień) can fly planes too, but slower, I suppose. He prescribed me some magic ointment and told me to nap a lot, because it works most effectively during sleep.
The monster seed from space hasn’t started sprouting yet, apparently, in spite of my worst fears. However, I’m strongly motivated to nap through the next two weeks: if it doesn’t go away by itself, it will have to be cut open. I’m also contemplating wearing shades everywhere, including indoors, because I don’t deal too well with constant questions. I don’t have any wheaty* answers.
*cross-linguistic attempt at a pun: cf. Polish and German names for the inflammation
