There's a difference in the light this evening. A smoky sunset. Canada is on fire, that's all.
Today was a 12-hour day at work. Facing a closing fast deadline and almost out of time. Clear, decisive, in motion. Not even a trace of the drowsy. That's a good feeling.
In a way.
The semi-deafness and ringing in my left ear continued to get worse over a period of a couple of weeks. I remembered a nurse telling me to put some hydrogen peroxide in there, so yesterday I gave it a try. About 8 hours later I lost any sense of balance, became dizzy and nauseated and threw up rather copiously. Then I slept for about ten hours. The ringing is still there but diminished somewhat and my hearing is less distorted. I poured a little more in this morning. Let's see what happens.
My very high mileage automobile/mobile home suffered a fainting spell this evening at a busy intersection. It was bucking a little as we sat stopped with my foot down hard on the brake pedal. When the light turned green, I hit the gas. The only response was all the warning lights coming on at the same time. The driver behind me honked. The driver beside me, a small man eating a fried chicken leg, who was also stopped, must have noticed my distress. He jumped out to help by pushing his shoulder against my trunk. I popped it into neutral, tried the ignition again, and this time it caught. Thanks a lot, buddy, I said through my open window. You bet, brother, he replied. He was still holding the chicken bone.
It's been a while since I took a walk. An hour today out there in the lightly fragrant sunlight. The lilac days of May - green grass, a yellow butterfly, a chipmunk perched upon a stonewall, brown-tinged bog water flowing through the culvert beneath the road, road-killed raccoon, and memories turning around in my head.
I need some new ones.
The temperature dropped into the 30s overnight. The heat came on. I added a blanket to the bed. In the early morning, I woke in the middle of a dream.
I was wading through a crowd of people accompanied by a woman. She was small. The crowd was dense and threatening. I lifted her to keep her from being overwhelmed by it. She was facing me and wrapped her legs around me for stability. She felt nearly weightless. Something about it felt perfect despite the roiling crowd.
I began to push our way through the sea of people.
"I hate them" I told her. "But I love you."
At some point, when you live alone, you become aware of tinnitus. It's the sound you hear in your ears when things are otherwise silent. I've found that the longer the silence lasts the louder it becomes.
I knew a man who became suicidal over it. He ended up with tinnitus after a rough bout of Covid-19. It was just about unbearable. I'd have to remind him to breathe when it overwhelmed him.
What I'm trying to say is that mine somehow evolved over the course of the weekend. It seems to have moved itself from vaguely inside my head to deep inside my ear. And it makes a deeper sound now too - something like the drone of a large industrial fan turning.
Reality changes. Embrace it.
Mother's Day. Tulips and a visit, laundry to do, groceries to get, hummingbird feeder to put up. I saw one zip by yesterday wondering if I'm in or out this year.
Are you also looking back? Retracing your steps? I think you're feeling alone now, where you are, with what you're going through. That's how we have to do most of this, I think.
I sleep better since all of the scrutiny and pressure subsided but it seems like I still can't get enough of it. Twelve hours wouldn't suffice. What is it the man said? Depressed really means "deep rest". It's your body telling you it doesn't want to be this character anymore.
There hasn't been much time or space for ruminating lately, but I've been seeing this recurring image.
The sky is clear and the sun is shining, but there's still a cold edge woven into the day. You are sitting in the sun and I am sitting in the shade. You are wrapped in a long winter coat wearing dark sunglasses with large lenses. Your face is hard. We are making small talk sipping coffee. I cannot really see you.
I can't feel you either. And when the chill sets into us, we get up and walk a couple of blocks in the sunlight and then back again. I talk to you through thick ice, recounting some random historical events of the last few years.
A few minutes later, you have to leave. Through the block of ice between us, I see your eyes perform an evaluative once-over before you climb into your vehicle. I say my goodbye the same way I would to anyone. It doesn't hurt and I don't look back.
Obsolete, rejected, and free.
Gordon Lightfoot. Goddamn it.
Seems like it's been raining for weeks now. When I look up though, I notice it's greening too. I just don't get that excited about it.
