I have two little black squiggly lines within my left eye’s line of sight. They wiggle and squirm and are especially visible on clear, bright days — two little black squiggly lines, annoying as hell.

The first time I see them, they’re paired with bright flashes of light; concentric circles that appear when I close my eyes. They’re so f*cking annoying that I find myself laying with the covers over my head more than I would like, trying to see (mostly) out of my right eye.

I’m at the the doctor’s office, hoping to refill my eye prescription and walk out with another pair of frames that I’ll inevitably beat up within the month. The intake questionnaire asks me about any issues, so I hurriedly share a few sentences on my squiggles, and wait for the ophthalmologist to call me in.

We’re going to have to do a full health exam, as opposed to refilling your prescription today.

The panic sets in as the very nice doctor in her very nice white coat begins unsheathing her many gadgets. I keep getting told I’m doing it wrong — I’m fidgeting, or leaning in too much, I need to sit up straight, I need to try again please. Why am I breathing like there’s no oxygen left in the room? It seems that I’m, unfortunately, panicking in her tiny, windowless office.

I’m really sorry, but I’m panicking. For whatever reason, I feel like you’re going to tell me that I’m going blind.

Dad believes in chaos theory, which is the opposite of the “everything happens for a reason” theory; which never really sat well with me in my adolescence. How could he so freely exist, without seeking an explanation, a cause for…everything?

My push notifications are a dumpster fire these days. A 23 year old thrown from his motorcycle on a Fairfax bridge. An Amtrak derailment with multiple fatalities in Missouri. Forty-four migrants found dead in a San Antonio truck. A “bombshell” hearing, an “unbelievable” ruling from the highest court in our land, murdered school children. Why, why, why?

Four loud pops outside of my building window, a shooting. I hear shrieking from the young couple with a child two doors down; they fight so much (our leasing office says there’s nothing they can do to help the young woman — doesn’t that seem to be the answer for everything these days?). These days, when the plane lands, I grip my seat — I’ve never been afraid of flying. When I get in my Uber, I obsessively buckle my seatbelt, Maybe I should have just walked. I have emotional whiplash from scrolling: 30 seconds of the cutest puppy you’ve ever seen, friends who just bought a new home, pictures from Pride, They’re engaged, that’s so lovely! Rage posts. Joy. A random meme I laugh at. A video I wish I didn’t see. Noise, noise, noise.

Did I mention: f*ck my eye squiggles? The medical term is a “floater,” by the way. I think there’s even more of them now.

At work a few weeks ago, a leader I admire very much shared some important words with our team. I wish I could remember what she said exactly, but she told us whatever we do, whatever jobs we may have, we must do our work to the very best of our ability. I realize she likely shared that in the context of just work and work alone, but in the world’s circus, her words became salve for me. There are very few things within my realm of control, and expending my energy on those is perhaps the best use of my time. I wrote down a few of those things last night (the things I can know are very much within my control), in a message to Danny. It’s nice having someone I can exchange comforting words with, even when we don’t have all the answers ourselves. I have to warn you, it’s not poetic (or meant to be — I talk about the mundane, like my driving habits), but it’s a start to realizing that maybe Dad has a point after all.

“The human body cannot live everyday in the trenches.”