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Poetic injustice, seems like

Half-delivering on my promise from last entry, here’s the New Yorker’s podcast of authors reading the works of other authors.

Early last week, I was afflicted with Sudden Hearing Loss.  It’s getting better, but I’m still very out-of -sorts.  Descriptions are difficult, but I’ll attempt anyway: bass distorts, voices sit behind walls, everything generally sounds badly mixed.  The refrigerator’s hum sounds as though it’s being blasted out of a teenager’s car.  Dina’s been worried about me, and understandably so – I’ve been pacing the house, unresponsive, trying to get a grip and, it must be admitted, mostly failing.   She even wants me to see a doctor, much to my surprise (she’s no fan of doctors).  I don’t know.  Something clearly needs to be done, but times are pretty tight.  Scared of how much this might cost me, especially since I don’t have insurance.

Probably the most terrifying aspect of the whole thing so far, though, is how unbearable it’s become to play my guitar.  All of the nuance is gone, replaced by cavernous inner ear feedback.    Five minutes with the thing gives me a headache.  (Likely one of the major reasons I’m failing to get a grip.)

Anyway, enough bad news.  Here’s some good: I finished my taxes today and managed a pretty nice refund.  Something like $350.  Not exactly a king’s ransom, I know, but after several years of paying the government over $1500/yr (I was self-employed), it’s extremely refreshing.

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