Taking care of the windows to the soul

It is said that the eyes are the windows to the soul.

In that case, my soul is in serious need of a professional window cleaner.

I've had issues with my eyes during the past two months and on Monday I made my third trip to the eye doctor in that time after my eyes took a turn for the worse after a few weeks of working properly.

During the past week, the first thing I do when I wake up is remove the gunk from my eyes so that I can actually open then. It is a terribly gross way to start the morning. My eyes are red, puffy and swollen. It looks like I am auditioning for "The Hangover Part III."

Because of this, I've not been able to wear contacts the last few months, which I suppose doesn't bother me. I probably prefer glasses at this point in my life. They are less of a hassle and the original reason for switching to contacts in high school – the unfounded hope that it would help me get a girlfriend – has not applied for almost a decade. (In hindsight, I should have realized that contacts do not hide acne or braces, nor do they make one confident. Romantic comedies in which the guy or girl takes off his or her glasses and become popular should be outlawed.)

Plus, glasses go well with the whole I'm-a-writer-now thing. All I need is a pink bathrobe, an ugly hat and gray hair and I could pull of the Michael Douglass in "Wonder Boys" look. (Christmas ideas!)

So, it's off to the eye doctor again.

While I fear most doctors, I'm generally cool with ophthalmologists.

I don't get lectured if my eyes aren't perfectly clean. I don't worry as much about something terrible being found. And I like looking at the eye charts.

I do, however, hate the eye puffer machine (actually called a tonometer, but I like calling it an eye puffer machine better). I feel like blowing back into its face and seeing how it likes it. "That's what I thought, Mr. Eye Puffer Machine."

But the rest of it is OK. I don't even mind getting my eyes dilated.

And I still remember my first trip to the eye doctor in elementary school. I was asked to read the first few letter on the eye chart, and I responded, "Circle, circle, dot, dot." I did not, however, finish the legendary rhyme, "Now you have a cootie shot!" Typically not what you want to tell the eye doctor. Needless to say, glasses were recommended since neither circles nor dots are in the English alphabet.

As for Monday's trip, it went well. The doctor gave me some antibiotic drops for my eyes, and this latest infection should be cleared up in a few days.

I certainly hope so. Maybe I'll start to wear contacts again. Because nobody really wants to look like Michael Douglas in a pink bathrobe. Even those who are married.

• Joe Grace is a freelance writer who has worked for various newspapers throughout the Chicago suburbs. You can write to him at joewriter81@gmail.com.

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