OK. Time to face the music. I shall dive into the inbox where messages from people eager to receive replies have sat… for possibly ages.

I have been granted a stay of execution. I discovered today that a deadline for a grant application I’m considering is not in June but October. Whew. (It’s so hard to legitimize it by telling it. Not that I’ll get the grant, not that I’m even eligible or that my ambitions are "feasible", to use their own language. Still, I have until then instead of just a matter of weeks, which removes considerable pressure.)

I feel free. I love that.

Last night when I was taking out my contacts the right one (the first one I remove) slipped from my finger, bounced off of the counter and slid with a small skiff into the trash can. The small "skiff" was the only clue I had; I thought it was probably the sound a small concave disk of hard plastic might make if it fell two feet onto a thin plastic sheet, but I couldn’t be totally sure. I mean, who knows? It could’ve been the floor or the toilet lid. Even if it did hit the plastic liner of the can it might slide from there to my slipper or something.

Well, I know this drill. I happens periodically just to terrify me and convince me that my long run of never having lost a contact lens is over. That’d be 15 years without a loss or breakage folks. The current set of lenses I’ve had for something like 4 years. I hope to have them polished again while I’m home and squeeze yet another year of use from them.

At any rate, finding a transparent disk that's a centimeter in diameter, even if it is tinted slightly blue, is complicated infinitely by the fact that since I’m no longer wearing the device that helps me see, I’m basically blind as a bat. My glasses take several days to get up to par with my contacts, as I fortuitously mentioned the other day, so putting them on doesn’t even the keel. I always have to get the flashlight and hope the tiny glimmer of reflection will catch my eye. (Aren’t I clever? With the pun, that is…)

Well, I’ve had worse scares. Several months ago a lens got away from me and the only sound I heard was like a little disk of plastic sliding on porcelain and then bouncing between two hard things. I was mortified, standing there looking down at the toilet picturing in my mind what happens to things that don’t float in toilets. Freakily, the lens had fallen, hit the top of the bowl portion, bounced and slipped under the seat where it bounced again, this time off the bottom of the seat where the tiniest bit of friction from such an action prevented its careen from becoming a voyage of the deep. It was the closest of calls.

Oh yeah, I always plug the drain in the sink and close the lid to the toilet before touching the lenses in my eyes. The seat was closed that time, but the lens still slid into the space between the bowl and the seat. Man.

Last night I was freaking out, but not as bad as that other time because the sound I heard made me think it landed somewhere in the vicinity of the trash can meaning it could be anywhere around there, which would be difficult to search, but recovery was certain given enough time. Drains and plumbing are a contact wearers worst nightmare, I swear.

Usually when I drop the lens it falls harmlessly on the counter. Sometimes it adheres to the side of the soap or maybe the faucet, but usually it just emits a tiny little plink and I look down to see it conspicuously light blue against the off-white counter.

The riskiest times are when I'm not at home. Going out camping is always difficult. I used to have those monthly wear ones, but then I had to switch to gas-permeable and since then I’ve always had to have my tent-mates holding flashlights, mirrors, etc., helping me get the lenses in and out. Occasionally one gets loose and we’ll look for the light blue tint against the darker blues and greens of nylon sleeping bags.

Hotels aren’t a piece of cake either. Geez. This last Lunar New Year, when Dave and I went to Soraksan, I was using the mirror above the bureau to take out my lenses because there was just too much open-ended plumbing in the bathroom. Of course, one of the lenses did a swan dive from my eye and hit the targeted space between the back of the bureau and the wall. I had to totally unhook a TV and a lamp before I could scoot out the bureau to find all kinds of guest residue dating back decades, through which I had to sift to find my lens. Eck! That was terrible.

So there’s been worse. Last night I merely took precautions, first carefully taking out the other lens and putting on my glasses. Then I checked the floor, removing my slippers so I could feel anything unusual under my feet. I felt all over my slippers too because those little buggers have a way of just attaching to a thing and using their stealth to escape detection. Then I wandered out for a flashlight, using it to inspect the floor after I had removed the trash can. Afterward, I perused the outside of the can and the part of the liner hanging over the rim. Then I started pulling out refuse, piece by piece, illuminating each one to see if something flashed back at me. Gross things in the bathroom trash, you know. In the end, I found it at the very bottom. It twinkled back up at me from beneath webs of floss, resting comfortably on a bed Dave’s displaced whiskers.