Tonight I have a consultation to see if I want to do what heard someone this weekend refer to as “flap ‘n’ zap,” aka corrective laser eye surgery.

I’ve known lots of folks who’ve had lasik surgery (Vera’s description was the most detailed and helpful that I’ve seen), but I’ve never really considered it for myself. Too expensive. Too scary. And I like my glasses.

Then Patrick Farley, one of my favorite online artists, wrote about a dream he had shortly after having his surgery. Last night I dreamt I was with my friends at a campout at Willits, and we were looking at the stars, and I suddenly realized, “Hey, I don’t need these glasses!” And I took my glasses off, and the stars blazed into clearer focus than ever before, a jewel-like clarity I’d never before beheld.

Then he went on to talk about how it was one of the best life improvement decisions he’d ever made. Oh. Hmm.

Then I started thinking about all my summer plans and how awesome they would be if I didn’t have to do the glasses/prescriptions sunglasses/contacts shuffle. Inside: glasses! Outside: prescription sunglasses! Oops wait, swimming! contacts in quickly. Oh but then wait back outside — sunglasses! But wait, they’re prescription, so I guess I can either squint from the sun or take out my contacts, bla bla. It’s complicated.

I also started thinking about what my glasses have meant to me. I started wearing glasses at 13, then switched to contacts at 16, then back to glasses at 22. I switched back to glasses in part because my eyes + CRT monitors = eye strain, but in part because I was kicking off my career and was aware that my babyface was a distinct handicap. At 22 I looked like I was about 17. And that was if I was dressed nicely. If I was wearing my usual daily-wear my perceived age dropped to about 15. My glasses were a way of gaining respect from the people I worked with. Sure: I knew I was smart, but glasses helped set the stage so that when I started talking people weren’t totally confused by the enormous words that fell out of my face.

Ok, so that was cool. It’s worked for almost 10 years. And now, here I am. I’ve worked my way into a place in my career where no one’s surprised by what comes out when I open my mouth. I don’t need to prove myself with glasses any more — that’s what my resume is for.

And although I might still look a little younger than I am thanks to the babyface, I’m working on some deep groove smile lines that stick around even when I’m not smiling. I don’t think I need the glasses to help me look my age any more.

And then there are all the places I’ll be able to see … in rainstorms! In the shower! When swimming! In downward dog! When making out! While engaged in sexual congress! Immediately upon waking up! No more playing “Where are my glasses,” where in I pat around blindly and Andreas looks under couch cushions and books to see where I’ve left them. My god. No more shuffling of contacts and glasses and sunglasses. Doesn’t that sound nice? Then again, I do have to risk permanent blindness and suffer through the weirdest 10 minutes ever, complete with the smell of my own laser-burnt eye-flesh. Mm. Singed eye-flesh. Patrick Farley described it as like an alien probe. That seems like a euphemism.

Anyway, we’ll see how the consultation goes. Originally, I was thinking maybe I’d do the surgery this fall, but once I made the decision that I was going to do it, I suddenly couldn’t do it fast enough. Now I’m all “Can you cut open my eyeball this week? Next week? PLEASE CUT OPEN MY EYEBALL.”

And as for my friends like Dawn who gasped, “But I like your glasses!” Don’t worry. Y’all should know I’m enough of an accessory whore to keep a pair of non-prescription specs around for the right occasions.