palace of winds

Eleven days. Eleven days my ear has hurt, off and on. I should have gone to the doctor right away, I know, but it would stop hurting and then begin again, and then stop and then resume. I was afraid it might be my jaw acting up, because the pain and stiffness has settled there as well. Saturday I finally went and got two prescriptions. The doctor said to fill the one for amoxicillin and not the one for the ear drops. If the pills hadn’t helped in a few days, do the drops too.

Well, the pills did help. Until I forgot one dose. I don’t know if it’s a coincidence that my ear began hurting again the next day, or if I was going to need the drops all along. At any rate, I began the drops last night. They don’t work instantly. They don’t even bring any sort of relief, and so I wonder if I am doing them right. You can be damned sure I’m not forgetting another dose of pills. I crawled in bed around ten thirty with Potter, and read until around one. I was tired and my ear had been hurting for hours, so I finally put the book down and decided I would get to sleep at a decent time for once. I was going to be good and take care of myself and sleep lots so I would feel better in the morning, right?

Wrong. I spent over two hours in agony, unable to sleep; I was sweating and freezing at the same time and I could not find a way to lie that alleviated the pain and pressure in my ear. I finally put more drops in (I figured it wouldn’t hurt, since I’d done them first around nine and wouldn’t be up until eleven or noon, most likely) and took two Advil and cried myself slowly to sleep.

It is so cheering in the morning to watch the light falling golden on bright green leaves. I have to resist the urge to bury my nose in them, in search of a clean green smell.

I hate shaving but I love the feeling that comes afterwards: the silk smooth skin. I know this is something pop culture has taught me to want, but I really don’t care. I love the softness of lotioned skin. It is comforting. Also, my shaving gel is the same fragrance as my mom’s, so every once in a while I’ll be reminded of home. A little oasis in the middle of a dreary day.

I woke early this morning (6:45) and instead of going back to sleep I lay in bed and listened to the wet sounds of morning outside my window. Cars sliding past, swishing through shallow puddles; an occasional bird singing feebly from a cage of branches. I wanted, inexplicably, to be one of those cars, on my way somewhere, melting into the distant hum of the highway, full of the peculiar grey of early morning. Instead I lay my head on my folded hands and turned my face to the dim light of the window and listened — not hard but openly, for what the sounds might tell me about this time before my usual waking.

I had come up out of a dream of home and was not foggy with that sleep. Instead of rolling back over and grasping after another forty-five minutes of oblivion I got up. In the bathroom I stood before the open window and breathed deeply of spring and, thinking of my dream, was content anyway.

I miss pop. I’ve given it up, though I don’t really know why. I guess because it’s expensive and I don’t need it and water is better for you or something like that. I didn’t drink it that often to begin with. But my usual McDonald’s #2 just doesn’t seem the same without its medium Coke. I keep looking around for the cup and it’s not there.