It spooked me.
Not a burn, not a slash. No terrace, no shore…just mountain to one thousand feet below the water surface.
In the prow of the boat, during the long twilight, I watched as we slid over the glassy water. Gliding, silent, no watery or boat sounds. Dark islands, mountains slipped by, everything a shade of silver or navy blue. Icy air ruffling my windbreaker. No ocean, fish or land odors.
Water stretched across the near horizon like the edge of a falls.
I felt ill waiting to see if we would sail off…
No animals, no birds, no fish. No man.
The feeling that I did not belong.
Misophonia, literally “hatred of sound,” is a form of decreased sound tolerance. It is a neurological disorder characterized by negative experiences resulting only from specific sounds, whether loud or soft, and is often used interchangeably with the term Selective Sound Sensitivity.
I knew that I hated gum smacking, really HATED it. I was ready to kill the perpetrator anytime anywhere somebody was cracking that gum.
Being in public–there’s the horror of having to listen to that noise–esp. at the doctor’s office or when I’m stuck in line. I glare, hoping my stare will cause them to explode.
Ka-boom!! That sound I wouldn’t mind.
It’s cool it has a name.
A sensitivity to high-pitched sounds and sounds of eating (which is odd since I love to eat so much).
So if you’re looking for suicide-by-gum–come crack it by me.
I’ll help ya.
Well, according to a study done at Northwestern University, you are more likely to have a creative brain if you tend to notice the (gross) sounds of others chewing. Read more at: https://tr.im/oSnb8
I put on a pillbox leather cap and a leather apron to cover my jeans-clad butt.
A tourist. Salt mines in Salzburg, Austria.
By the time I realized I was claustrophobic I was already underground. To return to the open air and sunlight I had to travel though the mines to the end of the tour.
Why wear the aprons backwards? because we traveled by SLIDE from level to level. A smooth piece of butt-wide wood, 45 degrees angle DOWN.
I strapped my mind into an eyes-forward-no-breathing-zone.
At the top of each slide a fear-mantra ground through my brain:
I had to go. Again. And again. To reach the light…
That claustrophic feeling…that breathless, heart-choking pain returns
everytime I must let one of my beagles go.
No choice No choice No choice
Good-bye, Bitey. My heart.
Lost one of my sweeties today. Beau, a beautiful boy beagle, huge at 35 lbs., such soft fur. He was a quiet boy unlike his brother MIghty Bitey. Too soon taken from our pack by cancer. Seems like hardly any time on this earth to leave at 12 years old. It’s so unfair. But he is no longer in pain and running free at the Rainbow Bridge. We will see you soon, baby boy.
So I’m over a half century now. Yeah, okay, I flashed past that half-century exit some while back and forgot to make a pit stop.
Today I watched Dr. 90210 and dreamed of a whole body lift. I also dreamed of Cracker Barrel pancakes. Got the pancakes. So much cheaper and no pain.
Except I hate to cook.
That part hurt.
But then I took a nap along with some vicodin and woke up covered in beagles.
I realize that all books are possessed by gremlins. Or, in my grandmother’s Pennsylvania Dutch household that would be hilgrimeits*. Same thing. Staying up late is useless. They know exactly when to move things around.
if only I didn’t snore…
*sure, if I had a clue how to spell it you wouldn’t be googling it right now.