My eyes, my eyes...

Following my brother's urgings, I got my eyeballs checked, and they were fine. The dilating drops were most unpleasant for hours afterwards, but it was comforting to find that there were no signs of any disease or weirdness anywhere. Fortunately it grew dark, dim and poured as I drove home by the back roads, since it wasn't easy to keep the world in focus. The pupils looked like Homer's on his "medical marijuana."
Well along in a friend's favorite book, The Moviegoer by Walker Percy. He's a quirky writer, but aren't most of them? Southern, wrote out of New Orleans, and the novel drips with humidity and moss, in an enjoyable way.