Monday, November 28, 2011

My Buddy, the Other, is Getting Tiresome

With age comes a clear experience of the body as machine—the other, not bloody hell me. A head-cold plagues me, its sequence predictable. Tight, swollen sinuses, runny nose; next comes the sore throat; the coughing will sink gradually down into the lungs. I work my way through this with the same sense of grumbling irritation that would arise if they had torn up our street for repaving and I’d have to squeeze past huge machines to do my daily rounds. The “other” is very noticeable at such times. When I’m normal, though, I also experience its equivalent. I’ll note, for instance, that I’ve left some book upstairs. Then I grumble about bodies—because to get the book, I have to drag this whole big lump up with me two flights of g.d. stairs.


  1. Uh-oh. I fear we may have inflicted this upon you at Thanksgiving. Really, a terrible way to repay such excellent holiday company.

    I hope you're on the mend soon. Believe me, I empathize!

  2. Thanks for the empathy, but the onset was a bit late to have been caused by the West Side, as it were. I'm also mostly over it already...

  3. (Monique here, again hijacking John's account)

    good heavens, what an image... "drag this whole big lump up with me..." I do hope that feeling has disappeared along with the cold!


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