Look Me in the Eye. No, This One, Over Here.

Recently I read somewhere, i.e. it must be true, that when a person cries and the first drop of tears comes from the right eye it's happiness, but when the tear comes from the left eye first, it's pain. (Of course this begets all sorts of questions such as what if someone only has one eye to begin with? Or a terrible tic? And does a teardrop tattoo on the right cheekbone mean that a person killed someone while laughing?)Right about now is when you expect me to tie this into something bigger. Meaningful, maybe, and I get it. But so what? There is something awfully sour living at the bottom of my trash can, a big spider trapped beneath a glass on the counter that we have all been too creeped out to move for days now. Last night Bryan did the dishes and then turned to me, hands still wet and said, so you want to do it? Sometimes I am so stupidly happy, batting at air, other times I feel heavy and sad. And then there are the times when Zoey first wakes up, confused. Dates, she says, or rabbits! Mart me why can you see corns? Zoey, I whisper, my face close to hers, are you still asleep? These might be my favorite times, the space between good dream and bad, happy, soft, angry and hopeful, when it's okay not to make sense, living like something you forgot or one day will. A few years ago an ophthalmologist told me I had a slightly lazy eye. For which I gave him the stink eye and forever after tried very hard to focus when having my picture taken.

I know. (Stop looking at me like that.)

I just might punch myself in the face and see if it's true, although if the tears start from the right eye it may just mean I'm happiest when in pain.