ear infection

Thank goodness it’s not a blown eardrum.

I like my music loud, after all. Partially because I’m partly deaf, but mostly, because music is best at volume, when it becomes your entire world, whether it’s softly crooning Fiona Apple or Loud As Love Soundgarden.

Doesn’t matter. It invades the space. Transports one.

At least, good music does. Bad music becomes little more than white noise, background filler for the task at hand.

Thanks, amoxicillin. Looking forward to being free and clear, right between the ears.

A little rhyme for the children, most of whom would never read this drivel.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 894 words, novel: Father Lightning

ear answers

I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon and I’ll find out if it’s a simple infection, the world’s most stubborn earwax or whether in blowing my nose, I blew my eardrum.

Either way, answers, or at least a step closer, if more tests are needed.

Man, this has gotten old quickly. For a guy who’s been half-deaf on one side since he was a child, I sure do miss being able to hear the little I do.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 449 words, novel: Father Lightning


It goes on and on and on. I think I’m going a little mad. Try to be nice to me. I probably can’t hear you.

I don’t want to go deaf. I’d miss music too much. I wouldn’t miss the sound of people’s voices.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1504 words, novel: Father Lightning

welcome back

Tinnitus is pretty bad, but I can hear again today, after spending an entire day wallowing around in the sound of silence, where everything got to feel like it’s underwater.

I can enjoy Fiona Apple again! Yay!

And I slept, sort of. With heavy drugs and a double dose of NyQuil.

Hopefully, this is me on the mend.

The dog loves my nieces. You should have seen her. Prancy dancing around the living room and foyer like she’d never seen anything more exciting in her life.

And yes, we have a foyer, but that’s because we bought a Chatham icon’s old house; the author of Romantic Kent built the place with servants and no plumbing. A hundred years later, it has plumbing, a secret set of what we call murder stairs beneath the shower and an endless stream of problems.

A money pit, really.

Bukowski would hate me, but we’d have some good times. We could talk about cats.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 415 words, novel: Father Lightning

another night

Another inability to sleep. I took two big swigs of NyQuil and a purple gummy my daughter swears is sleep-inducing and totally not weed.

I didn’t get stoned, so I guess she wasn’t lying.

Although, at this point, a little break from my brain might be kind of nice. I’m never big on the inability to focus when it comes to marijuana though; I’m more of a magic mushrooms and booze kind of guy.

Which reminds me. I read On Cats by Bukowski yesterday.

I have so far to go.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 2180 words, novel: Father Lightning


One step closer to the weekend; one more night of garbage sleep.

Ugh. This whatever this is (not COVID again, thankfully), it’s really making it difficult to sleep. Every night, within about an hour of going to bed, my nose plugs completely, ensuring that every time I drift off, I’ll choke on my own inability to draw breath anywhere except through my mouth.

That results in wild snoring, which keeps both me and my wife up (that’s right, I’m waking myself up).

The NyQuil doesn’t help. It’s congested up so high in my noise that no Kleenex can unblock it, and no amount of blowing does anything but pop my ears.

But it’s fine all day.

Go figure.

Here’s hoping this mini-nightmare breaks soon.

I have shit to do and sleep to have.

For those that say, I’ll sleep when I’m dead, fuck you. I’d rather sleep now. Batteries need charging. Heads need to stop pounding. Bodies need to ache less. Recharging is nothing if not a wonder, and ignoring that is pure folly.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1615 words, novel: Father Lightning

oh good

The cough is back. That’s fun. Hopefully, I’m not getting sick on top of just having been sick.

Life is a series of ever more irritating trials.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 2407 words, novel: Father Lightning

over it

I’m over the coughing and the phlegm. I’m no longer testing positive and all the other symptoms of COVID have gone away, except this disgusting shit in my throat.

Our bodies are gloriously disgusting, aren’t they?

Target: 1300 words
Written: 573 words, novel: Father Lightning


And grocery shopping. Basically, all I can do today. All in all, I thought I did a pretty good job of keeping it together at work and getting things done.

Surprising after the brain fog of the last few days. Work continues on the novel as well, a little, so take that, COVID.

I can still do shit, even when I’m sick. Norovirus was worse.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 257 words, novel: Father Lightning