þriðjudagur, apríl 11, 2006

glöggt er

Over lunch I find myself discussing eyesight with a friend. We talked about his vision, which he is told cannot even be corrected to better than 20/30, while my uncorrected vision has usually been measured as somewhat better than 20/20. I am sharpsighted. I move in circles disproportionately prone to nearsightedness, the sort of circles in which one is assumed to wear contacts if one does not wear glasses, and my uncorrected vision, when noticed, has provoked some wonder. I imagine my sharpsightedness as the sort of characteristic that would be remembered in a *Sternu saga, should one ever be compiled. I cannot leap my own height either forward or backward, nor vault onto the back of a horse in full armor (though, to be fair, I have never tried), but I can read the time off the clocktower while standing two miles away, in the next town.

We talk about this, eat lunch, then buy passable coffee in terrible paper cups and go our separate ways.

After lunch I retire to the second floor of the library and proofread 264 pages of text, after which my eyes feel like pools of mercury. So perhaps I will not be having that conversation over lunches in the future.

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