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Monday March 5, 2001
"The fixity of a habit is generally in direct proportion to its absurdity." Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past
where is it, kids?
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silenced It's a beautiful day, but my voice is gone. I can't talk and my ears are stopped up, too, turning other people into whisperers. I don't feel too bad otherwise for most of the day. By the end of the day, with no cold medicine, I'm dragging. At lunch, I go to Kyoto with one of the Nancys. She doesn't work with me anymore and we have to meet for lunch. We have a good talk except that I can barely talk. She has trouble understanding me because I'm squeaking. Then I have to repeat myself, further destroying my voice. Then I can't understand her because my ears are stopped up. This is the worst deal for a medical nihlist who is talkative. It's hard to deny you are sick while squeaking and whispering. I make it through a meeting. I'm late because the Outlook alarm doesn't go off for some reason. I slip in the middle of the meeting. When it's time for me to say something, they all looked pained at my squeaking. FFP has pear and bleu cheese salad, liver and onions and broiled tomatoes. It's all good, I think, but my tasting ability seems to have crashed with my hearing and talking. If you can't taste liver, your taster is kaput. I try to read the paper and we watch a made for TV thing about the Kennedy wives. Conversations we suspect never really happened were all over it. Who knows, though? To be Jackie, Joan or Ethyl was to be in an entirely different universe. |
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