Look Into The Eyeball

Five days left with my current job, then it’s off to the majors again. Actually, more like Triple-A level, but at least it’s not the farm league like my current employment situation. I just found out that they’re creating a management type of position there which would pay the same amount as I’m making now. I’ve got to give it to them for trying to make things more tolerable financially, but the immediate supervisor (the one who supposedly doesn’t like me) is moronic. I think I’ve determined the reason she doesn’t empower people to do things, even when we’re bored shitless: She’s afraid the more she teaches others, the more at risk her own job is because she feels inadequate. You are inadequate and I could give a rat’s ass about your painkillers.
Which leads me to my own medical condition. I’ve now contracted some crazy-assed eye shit which is making my eyes blood red. Initially, the entire left eye was swollen and it looked like I had taken a beat down. At that time, the shit was cornered to just this one left eye, and it was leaking some yellow sticky tear fluid at a rapid pace. Having no medical insurance at the moment, you can guess that I was a little freaked out. I immediately thought: “What would The Residents do?”

Thankfully, the SLF’s kid had contracted some eye shit the week before and was provided with eye drops. If I could hold the shit together until Friday night, I could nick some of the little one’s unused drops. I had been informed that his eye had gotten better in three days or so. That would put me fully recovered by Monday night. Fuck health insurance! I see now that “W” just wants us to be foxy in regards to staying healthy.
Obstacle 1 turned out to be the news that the SLF also contracted the eye shit and seemed to be running a day behind my own symptoms. That meant that we’d have to share the remaining portion between each other. As the Mother of a 20 month old son, she had witnessed the wonders of pink eye and assured me that this was not that ailment. Supposedly, I’d be itching like a squirrel, scratching my retinas into bloody submission. My eyes didn’t itch, they made everything look pus yellow. Everyone I encountered appeared to have a liver disease and I really had no desire to communicate with anyone. A large sign pointed to my face announcing “Look At The Bloody-eyed Freak!” My roommate advised me to go to the doctor, but that fucker thinks everyone is born with Blue Cross Blue Shield.

So I get to the SLF and immediately start dropping. Of course, it’s in baby doses, so I up the shit a few. Soothing. But I want immediate results. It doesn’t happen and the SLF’s condition starts to worsen. I say with pride that at no time did her eyes ever look as blood filled as mind. Perhaps it was a sign from that subscription to Fangoria I had.
Her parents stopped by and saw the wonderful shape we were in and immediately called back to recommend that she go to the emergency room. Fearing the medicine would be used up if she didn’t, I pressed her to charge that shit to Wellmark. If I recall, those bastards charge extra for emergency room visits, but are there any doctors available on Sundays?
She came back upset because the doctor diagnosed it to indeed be pink eye, but she was steadfast in her opinion that it wasn’t. So much so that she leant me the new prescription while she continued to use her old medicine. That’s fucking teamwork.
So this medicine has created a thin blood red line right on the inside of my lower eyelid. It’s still blood red on the eye itself, but the pus has died down and the shit looks to be spreading to the right eye too. It was fine before I started using this newer medication, which makes me think that the SLF was correct in her original diagnosis. But I’m going to have to deal with this shit, new benefits start next week, so I’m a tad short on medical expenses at the moment.
Getting back to The Residents for a moment, they were a curio from my middle school/high school days where you could send a buck to Ralph Records and get a single sampler of all their artists. A few friends did and one walked away with a compilation that had The Residents singing “Easter Woman” and Snakefinger’s “Thrashing All The Love’s Of History.” It’s was awesome, but it belied the leather-clad skull that demanded “Buy Or Die!” in the print advert.
Reading the story of the Residents kind of sealed the deal for me. Nobody knew their identities (a la Kiss) and their real names. I think this was around the time of Kiss’ “Unmasked” effort, so you can see why The Residents started to appear a little more groundbreaking. Plus their “Commercial Album” had something like 40 songs at :60 seconds a pop. A great value, even at today’s inflated cd prices.
I finally got to see them in the late 80’s, but by that time, the had one of their eyeballs stolen and were doing a whole theatre piece. It was still pretty bitchin’, but I was jacked up on a lot of mushrooms too. Below is a picture from that tour. I’ve got the ticket stub somewhere and a memory of driving around Minneapolis, lost and freaked, surviving one encounter with their superb police department. I wish I could say the same for the St. Paul PD, I heard a few months ago that they killed this nice Russian girl that I hung out with once. It’s fucked up when you hear news about people you know who are killed by those hired to protect you. As usual, Joe Strummer was right again.