I was looking forward to learning the results of my upcoming PET-scan…until I got a call from my oncologist’s office, postponing the scan for a week. The caller told me an injection I had recently was too close in time to the scheduled PET-scan, so the scan would have to wait. And so I will wait until next week. After I learned of the scheduling change, I received a long-awaited call from an ENT doctor’s office, referred by my oncologist, to set up an appointment to explore the causes and treatment of my constant nasal drip and nose bleeds. As luck would have it, I overscheduled the ENT appointment for the same time as my PET-scan. Once I realized my goof, I called the ENT to apologize and plead for another appointment. The doctor agreed to set an appointment for me on a day he reserves only for surgery, with an admonition that I might need to be patient in the event a surgery takes longer than expected. He altered his schedule because of the oncologist’s referral. I can expect to feel acutely guilty when I get impatient at having to wait for someone else’s surgery to be competed.
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Again, I hear the rain running off the roof into the gutters. And I hear a distant, high-pitched buzz emanating from inside my head. I wonder whether the buzz is really a sound, or simply a symptom of tinnitus? The same question comes to mind when I hear the “thump, thump, thump” beat of blood flowing through the veins and arteries near my ears…are the sounds real or simply manifestations of imaginary noise manipulating my brain to believe I hear sound? I have begun to question reality—or what I perceive as reality—in many ways, not just the phantom sounds I hear. The fleeting sharp pains I feel in various parts of my body, just under the skin, may not be real. They are not sufficiently bothersome, nor frequent, to mention to doctors. I have done that before. Usually, it leads to unnecessary investigations that lead nowhere or to dismissal; as if my hypochondria is acting up again. The sounds and pains are not terribly troubling (the sounds, though, more so than the pains), but I hate not knowing whether I am having actual experiences or engaging with phantoms. I just now noticed the sound of rain has stopped; did I actually hear the sound of rain before, or was it yet another illusory sensation?
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When describing the actions of someone who is seeking the approval of another person, the term “curry favor” may be used. When discussing food that has unique sensory characteristics, the term “curry flavor” might be used to describe one of its attributes. How can we justify differentiating between two terms with such disparate meanings with a single letter? A proper language czar would not permit the use of such potentially confusing expressions; such a czar would require a minimum of four letters’ difference between any such word combinations.
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This post represents the 5,500th post I have written for this blog. That includes 4,935 published; the remainder are drafts that very likely will never see the light of day. Many of the published posts also should never have been let loose on the world, but most of the world has not had the misfortunate of stumbling upon them…so the harm done is minor. Counting the posts on this (or almost any other) blog is an exercise in pointlessness in much the same way that clipping and collecting the letter “n” from newspaper articles has no value or purpose. Yet some people are driven to pursue an unattainable satisfaction from engaging in such mindless pursuits. Those people apparently believe there is some end to the means. When asked to articulate just what that end is, though, they struggle to put it into words. The satisfaction they seek is never realized, but they nonetheless tell themselves “it” must be “out there, somewhere.” They say “out there” because they have long sense given up looking for it in themselves. I imagine hoarders hoard for the same reason. Something about the hunt must propel them forward. The acquisition of one or more types of “things” must provide a sense they are on the right track. The same probably is true of bloggers and “n” collectors. Despite my recognition that my blog posts are by and large (perhaps entirely) without value, I cannot bring myself to discarding them…just in case there’s a gem hidden amidst the umpteen thousands of letters. Yet I have not taken steps to effectively back up these 5,500 posts, so they could be gone in a microsecond. I probably would survive the trauma.
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If I were to build a house today, it would be a smallish one. But it would have something I’ve never thought about including in my house plans until this morning: a sanctuary. Not a religious sanctuary, but it probably would look like one. Churches have a long history of perfecting sanctuaries, creating spaces with high ceilings, stone walls, beautiful stained glass windows, and a peaceful, quiet environment. My sanctuary would be small but grand. And it would be furnished with comfortable seating…including a couch or two suitable for napping. I might like to listen to the echo of Gregorian-style chants as I relaxed and sent troubling thoughts away. A place to connect with who I am and who I want to be. A place welcoming to like minds. And peace, as deep as the deepest ocean.
