I feel better now that I used shipping tape to fix the broken pair of reading glasses in my drawer. This, after a full hour of patrolling the house waiting for my intact glasses to suddenly sprout on a countertop, you know, as things do.
“Your keys were right on the table.”
I made myself a drink as a way to get on with things, as they say, but the effort was in vain. Because there can be no getting on with things if one has lost their glasses.
If I cannot find my glasses, I will not be able to read the newspaper in the morning. The local paper and the New York Times will become just fish wrapping to me and I will sit uninformed and illiterate all day. Worse. Much worse, and this is a loss that only some will understand, not finding my glasses would mean not being able to keep reading the third book in the Outlander series tonight.
“Are you just now reading Outlander?”
I’m not obsessed. I don’t read all the Outlander fan literature, if one can call it that. I don’t have cutouts from magazines taped on my wall. But I do live in Scotland every night for about an hour and I like it there. There’s filth and thievery and the goddamn British, heroic characters with amazing Scottish accents dodging swords and evil-doers of all ilk, endless love and witchcraft, unpredictable joy and mishap, some of it disfiguring, and, of course, the linchpin of it all – going through the stones. But while there is pestilence and gangrene aplenty, there is no Covid. So I like it there plenty. I verra much like it.
In the writing group that I frequent, there is a woman who writes Scottish romances set in the 1800’s. On the cover of her books are amazingly built men in kilts. For a long time, I wondered how she settled on this genre and that period of time, but it is now becoming clear to me. I have never been that good a writer, one that could write an alternative reality, but bless those who can. There is a time and place for escapism and that would be now and here.
Shipping tape saves the day, and the night.