On Saturday, the floor of my bedroom collapsed and tipped me
and the bed sidelong – I saw the mattress rising up above me, pointing at the
ceiling, as I slid down into the hole.
I’d been lying peacefully in bed, awake, but eyes closed,
planning my day. I opened my eyes to
begin it – and the world turned upside down.
I clutched wildly at the mattress as the bed reversed and
tipped up the other way. Then it whirled
in circles like a carousel before wallowing sickeningly, like a small boat in a
rough sea, leaving me sicker than I’ve ever felt when on a boat.
By this time I’d realised that the bed wasn’t actually
moving. I was enjoying my first experience
of vertigo.
The fun continued when I sat up. The whole room folded into origami and
flipped and flopped about until I didn’t know which way was Norwich, and fell
over on the bed like a rag doll.
My renegade left ear had upped its game again.
My right ear you’d like.
It’s a modest, respectable ear that does all that’s required of it without
feeling the need to draw attention to itself.
In the whole of my life I doubt I’ve spent as much as an hour thinking
of my right ear, or even being aware of it.
Qualities I appreciate in an ear.
I feel now that I haven’t appreciated it enough – have even
mistreated it by having holes punched through it and inserting metalware.
But not for my left ear a life of blameless obscurity. It wasn’t going to settle for being ignored
while hands and feet, and mouth and hair – useless hair! – got all the
attention. So, about twenty years ago,
it turned on me.
At first, it was merely irritating. It would feel as if someone was pressing their
thumb against the outside of the ear. For
hours. Annoying, but easily ignored.
So the ear upped the ante.
Imagine a tiny balloon being blown up inside your ear-canal, so it pressed
lightly on all sides. Not painful, but a
bit more than annoying. It would make me
shake my head and rub at my ear, as if whatever it was could be dislodged.
Imagine that balloon being steadily inflated, so the
pressure grow and grows. At some point
it passes beyond annoying and becomes painful. And then more painful, and more.
The ear wins. It has my complete
attention. It’s impossible to think about
anything else.
Still it plays games.
Years go by without the slightest trouble. More years pass without it ever going beyond the
‘annoying.’ Still, the slightest grumble
from it has me instantly on edge because it can accelerate faster than a
Ferrari, from tiny grumble to howling at the moon in minutes. It can then continue for a fortnight, or stop
after five minutes. I never know which. And now I’m always going to be waiting for
the world to start spinning as well.
So there’s been no work done on the Sterkarms this week. Not much done at all. It’s very frustrating, because I don’t feel
too bad until I try to do something – when I rapidly become sick and dizzy and
have to give up. ‘So you’re forced to
lie on the sofa and watch old films,’ said my brother unsympathetically. And I have.
But I want to write!
