While we were in the process of moving from the Midwest to the desert, my mom kept saying, "The sun is different here."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," I thought. How could it really be that different from Missouri to Phoenix? From Canada to the equator I understand, but straight west and slightly south?

She wasn't kidding. Even when it's cool -- or cold (yes, it does happen!) -- outside, the inside of my car bakes. The brightness is insane even when it's overcast. My skin has gotten pink as if it were slightly sunburned while I had clothes over that portion of my skin.

For a long time I've had trouble seeing in the dark. Trying to see street signs at night is difficult, movies that are visually dark are a challenge for me to watch, even with my prescription glasses on I prefer to be close to things I'm reading or watching.

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I am a writer. At times, I fancy myself an artist. I create things. With pen, paper, a camera, paint.

My mother says that I ate the world up as a young girl. That I couldn't get enough. I would stay up into the wee hours, watching the shadows on the wall or examining the shapes on the wallpaper from top to bottom and then bottom to top. She also says I didn't care to sleep. She felt I was afraid I'd miss something. I think she's right.

I still spend a lot of time looking at things. Feeling light, color, and texture with my eyes. Scrutinizing the world around me. I suppose some of this is the artist in me. The need to really SEE things before I can include them in the art I'm making.

And some of it is how afraid I am of losing my eyesight. (READ MORE)