The doc told me today that I’ve got labyrinthitis, an epic title for an epic illness known colloquially as a balance disorder due to a middle ear infection.
Sounds fairly innocuous, but what gives this fun little ailment gravitas is its ability to make the world melt. No shit, melt. When I stretch or yawn or twist, all objects—even the air—pour down like molasses. When I blow my nose, the ground skips like a record needle. Any earthquakes that may have occurred today during a morning bowel movement? My bad. Just about an hour ago, Husband reached his hands to my face while standing at arm’s length; the speed of the earth’s rotation has now increased.
This post, in fact, has been produced not just by cross-eyed concentration but by a great deal of rocking, swirling, and reality liquification. My apologies to any of you who may have been injured as a result.
I have banned myself from driving. Pointy object use is being kept to a minimum. But while everyone should get the chance to take a little adventure inside his/her own skull, it does some pretty crap things to one’s productivity. It’s hard enough to catch a thought: when every blink has the potential to change global weather patterns, it’s damn near dangerous.
