Doomed to repeat myself

I have to put cream on my hands and face to keep them at a dry consistency. If I forget they become like rice paper.

The other night I turned off my light, took off my glasses, then put Aquaphor on the backs of both hands. I put the dispenser back on the shelf and knocked off my glasses, which fell down the crack between the bed and the wall.

There I was hunting for my glasses with the cream precariously clinging on my hands. I could not wipe it in because then I'd be unable to turn on or off lights or anything else.

This predicament seems unique. Unfortunately, what follows is something I wrote years ago (when I was still walking a little):

So I go to bed a few nights ago. I have to use too many creams on various parts of my body, and the last one is hand cream. So I spurt some cream into my left hand, take off my glasses and turn off my light. I am getting ready to rub in the lotion, but I hear water dripping. I try to ignore it, but finally I decide I better see if I left my faucet on. So I turn on my light, put on my glasses and close my hand into a fist so the lotion doesn’t get everywhere. I don’t rub it in because then I could not turn off my light again or do many things with slick hands.

I somehow manage to get to the sink, and hold my hand under the faucet, but I can’t feel anything so I decide to turn the lights on to check for sure, as my hands can be a little insensitive at times. As I go to flip on the bathroom switch, I accidentally turn off all the lights, so there I am in the pitch black, balancing with a fistful of lotion. I quickly flip the switches back on and see the faucet is not leaking.

The trip back to bed, with the fistful of lotion, is mostly uneventful. I get back into bed, pull up my flannel sheets, take off my glasses and go to turn of the light. In the struggle with the light, it hits my glasses and I hear the awful sound of a lens bouncing. So I am lying there in the dark, with my fistful of lotion, and I feel around for my glasses. I put my fingerprints on one intact lens piece; then my finger goes through the other side of the glasses.

On comes the light again and I put on my now half-glasses. I find the lens and my glasses screwdriver and with my fistful of lotion, try to get the lens back into the glasses and tighten the screw. Somehow, I succeed.

Finally, I lay back down, turn off the lights and rub in the fistful of lotion. I was too tired that night to think “How much more?”

What I am pissed about, other than the annoying frequency of so's, is that I never say what water was dripping.