I.
There was an uncle who was an eye surgeon. He sometimes liked to have a drink or two after a day of staring at eyeballs, and no one can blame him for that. It had to be maddening to be back at work every time he looked at someone, doing the thing someone is supposed to do when listening, but scanning the eyes for discoloration, distortions, burst blood vessels. It probably wasn’t constant, but there had to be one moment in his life when, listening to something very important from a loved one, his mind wandered and noticed a faint corneal defect instead of listening -- and he felt worse for noticing himself doing it.