Thirty-five Minutes

I am sitting in my hotel room in Tempe and, lacking anything better to do, started to read a book. Thirty-five minutes. Thirty-five minutes is how long I was able to read before my eyeballs completely shut down. I'm looking at the page and realizing that I can't make out any of the letters. It's all just a fuzzy blur. 

So naturally I stopped reading and turned on the TV. That wasn't much better. I can sort of tell from the voices what I'm watching, but I can't really make out the faces. Surfing past the basketball game I could see players running around but couldn't even begin to make out the score. And it's not that big a room. 

I'm only able to type this because I've got the disability function turned on and the letters are huge. 

I'm a monomaniac at heart, I'm the guy that watched the entire Daredevil series in three days, picks up a book at 10:00 to "read a chapter" and winds up finishing the book at 3:00 in the morning, or plays through a video game over a weekend. Thus, the fact that my eyeballs only work for thirty-five minutes is something of an issue.

I'm starting to think cancer (treatment) is like an accelerated aging process. It's hard not to see my grandma in all the crap I'm dealing with. 

But that's not my real problem. My real problem is what to do in a hotel room in Tempe, Arizona when you can't focus you're eyes on anything. There's only so long you can just sit and stare at the walls.