Thursday March 22nd 2012 Tim
comes when eye-glasses need to be replaced. Sit on them a few
times. Lose them occasionally. Kick them around. Drop
them in mud. It's a rough and tumble, and a person can't help but
develop a friendship with a particular pair. It's a loyalty, I
guess. Maintained by apologies and cursing and interdependence.
And when it's that time to say goodbye, there is considerable angst,
because a person is never quite certain whether the new pair will work
as well or tolerate as much. Then there are the rows and rows of new
eye-glasses in the bloody Grocery Store, all of them different,
and god knows what. And, of course a person needs his old
eye-glasses to see the new eye-glasses, which is is a terrible way to
end a friendship.
There are some who
thrive on variety, they see it as their chance to elaborate, or reinvent.
It's the steam behind capital enterprise, and look at me aren't I new and
important, and special and critical to the survival of the species. As well,
I can see job creators desperately trying to maintain the flows of eye-glass
product design, stamping up and down the halls, ranting and raving about
staying ahead of the competition. And I see the drawing boards, the worried
expressions upon the faces of those eye-glass designers struggling with a
creative blockage that could lead to the employment exchange. Just
give me the same pair that isn't scratched, then go outside, watch the birds
and get some fresh air, and stop dicing around like mental patients at pill