The Eyes Have It


by Roxanne Tellier

It’s been an odd week for me, in more ways than usual. I had cataract surgery on one of my eyes on Thursday. For a few days before, and still now, a few days after, I’m not in my usual groove. 

Even writing this column is a little tricky. I’m using a massive font, pre-edit, because I’m still having trouble focusing. This will pass, and I’ll be glad when it does, because having my ability to read hampered is truly my definition of a circle of hell.

On the plus side, the left side of the world is definitely brighter and clearer, post surgery. In the last few years, I’ve resisted wearing corrective lenses, preferring to see my friends looking a little fuzzy around the edges. Everyone looks better when they’re a little fuzzy around the edges, in my opinion.

I can’t say enough good things about the nurses and doctors at Kensington Eye Institute. Kind, compassionate, and professional, they got me in and out of there in record time, with zero pain.

Overall, I’m feeling great, healing well, and looking forward to getting the all clear to get the other eye ‘done’ soon. All part of my quest to become Bionic Granny. Someone’s gotta do it.  

Anyway, my point (and I do have one,) is that I’ve been BUSY, DAMMIT! And it’s not my fault that the world refuses to stop while I’m doing my thing. I can’t be everywhere, keeping an eye on everything, when one of my eyes is out of commish!

Frankly, this week has been all about me, me, me, so there won’t be much in-depth commentary on the shenanigans of the planet. Go ahead, sue me. You’re not getting your money back.

You know who else isn’t getting their money back? These people.

Will you accept the results if Joe Biden wins?

What can you say about the people who continue to surge to the Disinformation Superspreader Rally Tour? We know why TRUMP is there … he’s desperate. He’s in the ‘please clap’ phase of his campaign, and he is trying to suck down the last of the ‘love’ and hysteria of these poor deluded loons, who care so little for themselves or others that they think nothing of putting their own lives and the lives of their loved ones in danger, just to feed trump’s sick need for applause and admiration.  

He’s on the road, out of the office, and proving daily that he’s clearly not an ‘essential’ worker … in fact, things seem to run smoother when he’s not around.

Those in this personality cult can’t see that the object of their affection despises them. Trump’s objective is quite simple; he wants people to sacrifice themselves, their lives and the lives of their loved ones to keep the economy running. Throw those students and another teacher on the barby, mate.

Two weeks before the election, you’re unlikely to change hearts and minds, so the thousands he invites to his super-spreader rallies, who show up without masks, disdain social distancing, and who make up their own mad science to justify courting a deadly virus, are there simply to prop up a narcissist, at the expense of their own health.

Some may be too sick to vote for him on November 3. The unlucky ones may be fighting for their lives in an ICU. Inviting his supporters to prove their fealty with their very lives doesn’t seem the smartest way forward. It seems more like the actions of a killer with a quota to fill.  

As trump and his surrogates insist that they’re about to ‘turn the corner’ on controlling COVID-19, the virus is not only not going away, it’s actually doubling-down. The numbers don’t lie. But trump surrogates do.  

Two weeks to go until the nation’s fate is decided. Fingers crossed, America. Fingers crossed.

Demi LovatoCommander-In-Chief

  • A little food for thought. 

I like to play with ideas.

Thinking outside the box, wrestling with concepts, pushing mental boundaries – that’s my idea of a good time. To me, it’s like jazz; there’s your basic premise, and then there’s where you can go with it. Especially if you have a willing collaborator. Stretch that thought … take it where it wants to go, and where it’s afraid to tread …. That’s jazz …

This comedy skit is jazz. Time to give your mind, and your funny bone – a workout.

Oh God, Our Cancer Cure Was Invented By A Pedophile!”

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