I Accidentally Slept With My Contacts In

Okay, so. Let's talk about something that might be, you know, a little embarrassing. Or maybe just… relatable? We've all been there, right? That moment when you realize you've committed a tiny, yet significant, faux pas. Mine this week involved my eyeballs. And a whole lot of sleep.

Specifically, I accidentally slept with my contacts in. Yup. Those little plastic discs that are supposed to be out of my eyes for a solid chunk of the night. Just… in. All night. And then some.

It started like any other Tuesday. Or was it Wednesday? Honestly, the days blur together sometimes, don't they? Anyway, I was tired. Like, really tired. The kind of tired where your brain feels like a deflated balloon and the couch is practically calling your name with a siren song. I'd had a long day of… well, being me. Which, let's be honest, can be pretty exhausting.

So, I did what any sensible, sleep-deprived human would do. I made a beeline for the bedroom. Pajamas? Check. Teeth brushed? Probably. Contacts removed? Ah, there’s the rub. My brain, in its infinite wisdom, decided that that particular step was… optional. Or maybe it just got lost in the "I'm so tired I might just spontaneously combust" shuffle. Who knows.

I remember thinking, "Just a quick nap." Famous last words, right? A quick nap turned into… well, a full-on coma. I'm talking deep, dreamless sleep. The kind where you wake up and have absolutely no clue what time it is, what planet you're on, or if the cat has somehow learned to operate the TV remote and is currently binge-watching nature documentaries without me. The horror!

The next morning was… an experience. I slowly, painfully peeled my eyelids open. The world swam into a blurry, less-than-ideal focus. My eyes felt… weird. Like they had tiny little pebbles stuck in them. Except, you know, the pebbles were made of plastic and were actively part of my vision.

And then it hit me. The dawning realization. The slow, creeping dread. My contacts. They were still in. Oh. My. Gosh. Why, past-me, why?!

I swear, for a solid minute, I just lay there. Staring at the ceiling. Trying to process this monumental error. Was this a sign? Was the universe telling me to embrace my inner mole person? Should I just invest in a really good pair of sunglasses and call it a day?

Let’s just say my morning routine got a whole lot more… involved. First, the delicate operation of trying to remove the now-dry, slightly stiff, and probably very unhappy contacts. It felt like trying to peel a sticker off a particularly stubborn piece of furniture. There was a lot of blinking. A lot of squinting. And, if I'm being completely honest, a few muffled groans of discomfort.

You know that feeling when your eyes are super dry? Like sandpaper has taken up residence in your sockets? Multiply that by about a thousand. That was me. My poor eyeballs were staging a full-blown rebellion. They were probably sending angry emails to my brain, cc'ing my optic nerve, with the subject line: "SERIOUSLY, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!"

After what felt like an eternity, I managed to get them out. And let me tell you, the relief was immense. It was like the clouds parted and a choir of angels (or at least a very soothing ASMR voice) sang a song of gratitude for finally freeing my eyes from their plastic prisons.

But the ordeal wasn't over. Oh no. My eyes were red. They were irritated. They looked like I'd been crying for three days straight while simultaneously staring into a bonfire. I’m pretty sure if a stranger saw me at that moment, they'd have offered me a hug and a box of tissues.

So, I had to do the whole… eye-drop thing. Religiously. Every hour. Drip, drip, drip. Trying to soothe the ravaged landscape of my ocular organs. It felt like I was performing some sort of ancient, watery ritual. A purification ceremony for my eyeballs, if you will. Maybe I should start charging for it.

The rest of the day was spent in a state of mild paranoia. Every little itch, every flicker of blurry vision, sent a wave of panic through me. Was it dry eye again? Was it a permanent vision impairment? Was I going to have to learn braille?

You know, it’s funny. We rely on these little things so much. These contacts. They’re like magic little windows to the world. They transform us from blurry blobs into… well, people who can see where they’re going. And then, when we forget to take them out, they become the very things that hinder our vision. The irony is not lost on me.

It made me think about all the things we do on autopilot. Brushing our teeth. Locking the door. Taking out our contacts. These are the small, mundane tasks that keep our lives running smoothly. And when one of them goes awry? Chaos. Minor, eye-related chaos, but chaos nonetheless.

I've always been a bit of a scatterbrain. My brain is like a browser with 50 tabs open, and half of them are playing different YouTube videos. So, for something like this to happen, it's not entirely surprising. But still. It was a good reminder. A very red-eyed reminder.

Now, I'm not saying you should rush out and buy a giant novelty alarm clock that screams at you to remove your contacts. Although, if such a thing exists, I might be tempted. But maybe, just maybe, a little extra conscious effort before you hit the hay could save you a world of discomfort. And a few hours of looking like you've wrestled a badger and lost.

I'm definitely going to be more mindful. Like, super mindful. I'm practically going to write it on my hand in Sharpie. "TAKE OUT CONTACTS. SERIOUSLY, DON'T BE A GOOSE." Maybe I'll set a reminder on my phone. Or get a tattoo. A tiny little contact lens on my forehead. That might be overkill. Probably.

The funny thing is, after the initial shock and the discomfort, there’s a weird sense of accomplishment. I survived. My eyes survived. I didn’t go blind. I didn’t have to wear an eyepatch and pretend to be a pirate. Although, I admit, a little part of me considered it for dramatic effect.

It's these little adventures, these minor mishaps, that make life… well, interesting, I guess. They’re the stories we tell. The things that make us laugh (eventually). The moments that remind us we’re human. And that sometimes, our brains decide to take a little vacation without telling us.

So, to all my fellow contact lens wearers out there, I offer this sage advice: Be vigilant. Be aware. And for the love of all that is clear and comfortable, try not to fall asleep with them in. Unless you're aiming for that "just emerged from a week-long meditation retreat in a dimly lit cave" look. In that case, you're nailing it.

And if you do, don't beat yourself up about it. Just grab those eye drops, embrace the blur for a moment, and know that you're not alone. We’ve all been there. Or at least, I'm hoping I'm not the only one who's this forgetful. Please tell me I'm not alone. It's a lonely, blurry world out there.

Anyway, I'm off to put some lubricating drops in. Again. My eyes deserve a spa day. And maybe a very stern lecture. But mostly, they deserve a good, long, contact-free night's sleep. Here's hoping I can remember to take them out before I pass out this time. Wish me luck. I think I'm going to need it.

It’s a constant battle, isn’t it? Between the desire for convenience and the need for actual self-care. These contacts are supposed to make my life easier. And for the most part, they do. But then, there are these little… hiccups. These moments of pure, unadulterated forgetfulness that remind you that you’re not a robot. You’re a person. A slightly blurry, sometimes red-eyed, person.

And you know what? That’s okay. We’re all just figuring things out as we go along. Some of us are just a little bit better at remembering to take out our eye-plugs than others. I’m working on it. Slowly. Painfully. With lots of blinking.

Maybe I should just go back to glasses. For a while. Just to recalibrate. To remind my brain what normal looks like. But then again, the freedom of contacts! Not having to worry about smudges or fogging up in the rain. The trade-offs, right? It's a constant negotiation with your own eyeballs.

And so the cycle continues. The wear, the forgetfulness, the dry, scratchy awakening, the frantic eye-dropping. It’s a wild ride. A slightly less-than-clear ride, but a ride nonetheless. I'll keep you posted on my progress. Assuming I can remember to check my email. And assuming my vision hasn't completely deteriorated by then. Fingers crossed!