It’s been a long week. There’s a lot going on, but I don’t feel like writing about the 9/11 anniversary or politics. Instead, I’ll write about eyes, not ayes. Does that mean the eyes have it? Beats the hell outta me.

My cataract surgery went well. I’m adjusting to a new reality: My left eye is stronger than the right. My left eye has always been as weak as coffee at a rural diner. It’s why I’ve worn glasses since 2nd or 3rd grade. Now this old blues song applies:

I’m trying to get by without glasses for now, which is almost as weird. I feel the vestigial weight of frames on my nose. If there’s such a thing as ghost glasses, I have them. It’s a strange sensation as is my depth perception; it’s still a bit wacked out as I adjust to this new reality. Bending over is an adventure right now.

The surgery itself is weird. They don’t knock you out. The anesthetic is strictly local. They want you to be able to converse with the doctors. I didn’t have much to say because I was too busy looking at the wild colors and shapes flashing before my eyes. It reminded me of this venerable Cream song with an unpronounceable title:

Creamster Jack Bruce used several pronunciations over the years. My favorite was slobber.

Check out this surreal verse by lyricist Peter Brown:

“So many fantastic colors, I feel in a wonderland
Many fantastic colors, makes me feel so good
You’ve got that pure feel
Such good responses
Got that rainbow feel
But the rainbow has a beard”

In a word: Psychedelic. I forgot something. Make that psychedelic, man.

I told the docs that it reminded me of a light show at a Pink Floyd or Grateful Dead show. I halfway expected someone to request the trippiest Dead song of all:

The doctor informed me that another patient said it was like LSD. In my case at least, it was a good trip, not a bummer. Make that bummer, man.

I’m not sure which of these songs apply but they’re both relevant other than the gender:

Tina’s band opening with the riff from Won’t Get Fooled Again was disorienting but so is LSD. I dabbled in acid during my misspent youth. Anyone surprised? I thought not. Attending 75+ Grateful Dead concerts gives one a certain reputation.

My last acid trip was in Washington DC in the first year of the Reagan presidency. We walked over to the Lincoln Memorial, a favorite spot of mine. But the sight of flames shooting out of Honest Abe’s eyes was a bummer, man. That was it for me, man.

Back to the psychedelic surgery. The post-op period has been almost as weird as the surgery itself. I had to wear a plastic eye shield that resembles a hockey goalie’s mask for the first 24 hours. I have to sleep wearing this uncomfortable eye condom for a few more days. Oh well, what the hell.

I’m glad I did it. We’re likely to do the right eye as well but my doctor thought it was best to adjust to the changes in my vision before making a final decision.

That concludes this brief trip to the psychedeli or is that psychedelic shack? Whichever it is, the last word goes to The Temptations: