MASCARA

wasn’t going to post today on account of me having to wake up at 6AM for a morning class tomorrow, but I just conveniently realized I’ve got a research project due in  2 months, so I mean, what’s the point, really? It’s not like I’m going to sleep anyway.
And I like staying up late. The late night is the universal time of delirious self-reflection. It’s when you sit back in your chair or sofa or bed and just think about stupid things. The night is free of judgment because every sensible person is probably sleeping, leaving me free to stare at nothing and realize how appreciative I am for the little things, like having two eyes instead of one.
I feel like that deserves a little clarification.
So Wednesday of last week, I started off my day at 8AM by almost pulling out my right eyeball.
Okay, that probably clarified nothing. Sorry. Take two.
I was applying my mascara as ussual. Most of us ladies are obsessed with mascara. If this is surprising to you, let us back up that statement by waxing poetic on all of the reasons why: First, it instantly opens up our eyes. Even when we’ve been burning the candle at both ends, we still manage to look awake thanks to this fabulous eye makeup we call mascara. Second, it makes us look like we actually have eyelashes — even those of us who were blessed with blonde (aka invisible) lashes or super fine and stubby ones. Third, it creates an instantly feminine, polished makeup look. Even if it’s the only product we take time to apply, it helps us look pulled-together. We have a list of the mascaras that produce lack-luster lashes (try saying that three times fast).
When applying, you are supposed to look up to lift your lashes. You should still be able to see yourself in the mirror out of your peripheral vision.
If you are afraid you are going to blink when you approach your lashes with the wand, open your mouth. It’s harder to blink when your mouth is wide open. Guess what i did i blinked and the wand went straight to my eyeball. When I pulled the wand away, it felt like my entire eyeball went with it.

I let out a sound I can’t quite put into words but must’ve been something like “ouhahehAHHESHS” and clutched at my eyelid, dousing it with cool tap water. The pain subsided.
Around half an hour to class, while walking , I blinked and felt a peculiar sensation.
Me: I think there’s something in my right eye.
Sharon: *looks* Like what? Dirt?
Me: A rock, probably.
Sharon:I don’t see anything
Me: Or maybe a log.
Sharon: You’re FINE.
Ten minutes later, the eye began to sting. Blinking rapidly to clear my vision only hastened the tears. I proceeded through the entire rest of morning class with a continual stream of tears running down one side of my face.
No one noticed. Although that may have been because I took considerable effort to only show the left side of my face, whether that meant circling around so I could always stand on the right or channeling my inner Phantom of the Opera and keeping a hand to my face for another half hour. Except I would’ve assumed that would have made it more obvious.
It didn’t get much better after second class started. I continued to cry out of one eye as Dr. Misiko lectured on domestic tourism. The break saw me straight through a roll of tissue. Then, afternoon class. I cried harder, but that one’s understandable.
By the end of that class, I had half-wept my way through inspirational messages, international tourism, and global destinations.
I headed to the medical centre, having had enough. But the exact moment I walked through the door, my tear duct ran dry.
If I hadn’t been so relieved the pain had disappeared, I would’ve rolled my eyes. Because, of course, isn’t it only when you tell someone about a problem that it goes right?