A couple of weeks ago I asked my favorite Canadian what it was like having one eye. Among my many questions, I pondered as to if he saw total darkness in his blind eye or if he saw a mixture of red and blue dots like I do. He had no idea what I was talking about. Another colleague of mine was standing there in the conversation and also commented that he, too, sees dots. This began a strange inquiry into how many people see dots and how many do not and who, for that matter, are the normal ones. It turns out that people see dots, others don't, and still some see them every now and then.
I am able not to see them if I do not wish it so. They usually appear when I start to talk about them. These little sparks of intrigue have been with me my entire life. They rarely show their selves when the sun is out. But once the darkness falls these little puppies ignite and create odd shapes that keep me somewhat entertained.
As this dialogue grew, we decided to call an optometrist to get their opinion since, as odd as it seems, Google failed us. The optometrist told all of us who see dots to set up an appointment immediately. Drat! Thoughts of glaucoma, diabetes, and blindness filled our heads as we tried desperately to rationalize our sparkly vision. We found others who, too, saw the dots. This brought comfort.
This troubles me because my eyes have exceptional vision. I must admit, however, that since this debate has sprouted I have found myself in constant effort to have the dots disappear. The problem is that I only see them when I think about them. Nuts. Maybe, as Bugs Bunny once suggested to Elmer Fudd, I have rabbititus. He said, "first you see spots before your eyes. Then they start spinning around until, suddenly, everything goes black." Drat.
