The Law of Attraction, that is.
Last week it was pure love. I’d been wishing for something and it came, right where I asked it to; a nice, gentle-but-still beneficial yoga program fell into my path like a happy little snowflake. I asked and it was given. Even was produced by my favorite at-home fitness program company from whom I buy all my workouts. It’s exactly what I needed, at precisely the perfect time, and even from an old reliable and familiar source.
I love when this stuff works!
I hate when this stuff works.
Now the hate part.
For a month I’ve been trying to pick up a prescription-only eyelash growing miracle drug. One drop a night, and your lashes grow longer and thicker. There’s no one argument that it works. It absolutely does. It was discovered by accident when glaucoma patients using it for their condition, all grew lush, abundant lashes. So I thought, well, this might be the answer to one of my other wishes. I’ve been wanting longer thicker lashes without mascara for a while now. Why not give it a try?
So I have a prescription phoned in.
Let the baseball analogy ensue
I go to the pharmacy to pick up the scrip the same day it’s called in. The pharmacy has no idea what I’m talking about. Some investigating reveals the problem–the doc forgot to sign the order.
A swing and a miss. Strike one. And my inner coach whispers, You know there’s a reason.
Yeah, yeah, coach, shut up, shut up. It’s only one strike. Doesn’t have to mean anything.
The doc re-sends the scrip, signed this time.
I hate going to town. It’s an hour round trip, and I’m a hermit. I would be a certified hermit if such things were certifiable. Maybe that’s what people mean when they say I’m certifiable.
But that doesn’t matter right now. I hate going to town, so I let it sit there for a week. Eventually other things cause us to have to make the trip, so I go in to pick up the magic eyelash potion.
Oh, says the nice lady at the pharmacy counter, it’s out of stock. But we can order it.
Stop swinging. Take a walk, whispers my coach.
I was all, Why didn’t you order it when you got the prescription? And she was all, Because it’s expensive so we have to okay it with the patient first. To which I reply, Why didn’t you call me to okay it, then? To which she replies, Good question. I really don’t know. So do you want it ordered?
And the still small voice from deep within is calling softly, There’s a reason. There’s a reason. There’s a REASON, like a Who down in Whoville.
So did I want it ordered? Of course I did. Because I am a bad forking guru. I have no idea why you’re even here reading this blog. And yes, I did just swear like Kristen Bell in The Good Place. I’ve adopted the idea because I have both a potty mouth and grandchildren.
I say, Yes. Please order it. My inner coach lowers her head, shaking it slowly.
And the pitcher winds up...
A week later, I get a call. My prescription is ready. They will only hold it until the 31st. The call comes in on the 24th. I put it off until I can’t put it off any longer, and go pick it up on the 30th. The first night, I forget to apply. So there’s at least a tiny part of me listening to the coach.
But on the second day, I read all the directions. One drop for each eye, to be applied with the included disposable angled brush. I apply it to the upper eyelid at the base of the lashes before bed. Instructions say to wipe off any excess and there’s a lot. One drop for both lashes, I decide, will be plenty going forward.
I use the magic eyelash formula (not its real name) for the next two nights, for a total of three applications. On the afternoon of day 4, while walking the dogs, I notice that the tip of my nose has suddenly gone completely numb, icy cold, and tingly.
I wonder about the strange sensation as we walk our lap around the property. We used to do three laps. Dozer’s getting older, sweet old bear. Anyway, as we walk, the weird feeling travels across my left cheek at an upward angle, and then pools at the outer edge of my left eye. The spot where my laugh lines live. (I refuse to call them crow’s feet. Laugh lines is a much nicer term.) I’m really starting to get nervous now. And then it spreads up the right cheek, and gathers near my right laugh lines. And then it pops unbidden into the center of my forehead. It feels like an icy cold dime is being pressed to my skin there.
What the hell, honey? My face is going numb.
Well, that’s new, says my hunka burnin’ love.
I say, It feels just like that numbing cream they put on your skin before Botox.
He says, Yes, I know exactly what you mean.
I scowl at the hint of sarcasm, and say, Well it’s either the eyelash stuff, or I’m stroking out.
Good to know, he says.
We are very laid back people.
So we head inside, and I pop half an aspirin in case I’m stroking out, although I feel 100% everywhere except my face. I start drinking lots of water to flush whatever it is out of my system. I take a single benadryl, half a dose, in case it’s an allergic reaction to the eyelash stuff, or to anything else for that matter. Although I can’t think of anything else new that I might be reacting to.
I don’t want to take a full dose of Benadryl, though, because it’ll make me sleepy, and if I fall asleep, I won’t know if my airways swell shut due to anaphylaxis. Not that I’m worried or anything. I honestly feel fine. I say to my honey, You might want to keep an eye on me tonight. He gives me a reassuring nod, and puts aside everything else he has going on.
Over the next few hours, I alternate between, I think it’s getting worse, and I think it’s going away. My legs start itching at one point, and I develop two welts on my left foot. Or maybe I banged it on something, but they feel like allergy welts and they’re gone the next day, so I think they were welts. I do not apply the lash stuff that night. The Benadryl kicks in, and I’m soon sound asleep despite my best efforts. By morning, I’m mostly back to normal. I get a few minutes of the numbness now and then, but it comes and goes, and soon stops returning.Sidebar: Every household should keep Benadryl, Children’s Benadryl, and an EpiPen on hand, just in case.
I haven’t used the eyelash stuff again. I’m on day 3 of skipping it.
And already, I’m wondering if I should give it time to clear my system and try it again, just to make sure that’s what it was. Right?
I know, I know
I won’t. I’m not going to, really. I’m going to give it away. Every sign was telling me not to use the stuff. I even joked about it when roadblock after roadblock stood between my prescription and me, like giant flashing neon signs spelling out the words, WRONG WAY! GO BACK! MAKE THE NEXT LEGAL U-TURN!
But did I listen? No. I wanted this stuff to be the answer to my wish for long lush lashes.
So what is the take-away?
🎵🎶Don’t mess with Maui when he’s on a breakaway.🎶🎶
No wait, that’s not it. I’ve just watched Moana too many times.
The lesson here was this:
When it’s not working, walk away.
When roadblocks keep appearing on my path, I’m on the wrong path.
I know better than to ever paddle upstream. I know enough to just relax, let go the oars, and let the current carry me.
Hope you get this one better than I have, up to now. Even the most stubborn person on the planet ought to know better than to argue with her own GPS. Although now that I think about it, I do that too. “No, disembodied lady voice, am not taking the next left. I know a better route! Take that!” The tiny lady inside the dashboard lowers her head, shaking it slowly.
This seems to be the life lesson that’s taking me the longest to learn. When I want something to be for me, and my Higher Power insists it’s not for me, and throws obstacle after obstacle into the road trying to tell me I’m going the wrong way, I often insist on trying it my way first, just to make sure.
I’m not sure I’ve learned this lesson well enough yet. I imagine it’s going to be a recurring theme for me.
I blame my inner child
I remember when my girls were little, and there was a hot pan in the middle of the table at mealtime. And I said, “That’s hot. Do not touch it. It will burn you.” And one of them, probably Katie, reached right out and pressed her palm to the pan.
That’s me. I’m not going to believe my Mom. I have to see for myself. Singed hand. Numbed face. Lost in the middle of nowhere. It’s all the same thing.
We have guidance. All we have to do is pay attention to it.
See you next time!