Freedom of Choice

I enjoy having the freedom to choose. I take a lot of pleasure, actually, in activities that give me multiple options from which to choose - picking out paint colors, finding the perfect Christmas tree, selecting the ideal combination of wrapping papers to maximize the effect on Christmas morning, selecting a dessert . . . you get the idea. (The one thing this doesn't apply to, though, is clothes. I like them, and I like them nice. I just don't like to pick them out or *ick* try them on.)
All that said, I am GREATLY displeased when a choice is taken away from me. For example, I choose to wear contacts. I think my eyes are my best feature. Some people can look stunning and oh-so-suave in fancy specs, but I've never considered myself one of them. Today, I've had to face the fact that I just don't think I can wear contacts any more, at least not on a regular basis, and it's not by choice! I have this weird-o funky autoimmune thing called Sjogren's Disorder. It makes my body attack its moisture producers, so I have little to no tear film on my eyes, my skin is dry, itchy, and rebelling with eczema, and my mouth makes so little saliva that I have difficulty swallowing my food sometimes. It's completely obnoxious, and I'm feeling just a little whiny about it today. My eyeballs are simply rejecting the whole idea of contacts. Today was the first day I tried them in about 2 weeks, and I had to take them out after 2 hours. Oh, well. I will look for the silver lining . . . . at least I work for an eye doctor and I can get some good discounts on glasses! :-)