While pondering my medical history, I noticed a pattern: every two years, during the summer, I get an ear infection. I don't know how or why, but it happens. I'm into my fourth day of enjoying this year's ear mold-and-bacteria block-party. I just got those salt-based ear drops today after dealing with the second most unpleasant physician I've ever dealt with. (In his defense, I just think we had bad chemistry.) I also have some pain killers that I didn't request here, but I decided to take one because it does hurt now. Here's hoping they were too strong on warning about the drowsiness, because I need to drive a lot at work. At least all this will pass in a week.
The most annoying aspect of an ear infection is that it robs you of your ability to focus. I can't draw, read, or (big tragedy here) play video games, and to be frank, I'm bored with writhing in pain.
Did you notice how Nintendo's Game and Watch portables from the early eighties had a sequence of dual-screen devices that look suspiciously like the modern Nintendo DS. Just think about that: Nintendo broke into the electronic gaming industry with those and arcade games like Donkey Kong. Those bastards, we've been running in place for the last thirty years just to stay in the same place.
...I'll bet Alice would be a Nintendo fan. (Link fangirl, no doubt.)
I was writhing in pain today when a mosquito landed on my blanket. Something struck me odd about her, and I became frightened. If you look closely at her, she was strange, possibly an unfortunate mutant: her proboscus forks strangely into two organs that look like antennae. I was certainly familiar with such mutations in insects, like those pictures of fruit flies that have legs in place of their antennae. However, something about this visit frightened me, about the mutated mosquito, about my infected ear, about myself. I sat there for a long time, unable to do anything, until the little bug flinched and I tossed the blanket over her. She sluggishly flew from between the folds, and landed on the wall. I continued my irrational escapades by trapping her under a glass and a bit of paper. A little while later, she slumped over and died. I have squished many thousands of mosquitoes in my life, but this is the first one that has ever produced a reaction (other than annoyance). If I've got this right, I don't think she could have done a thing to me, and she was already behaving like this is her last day. (An entertaining thought: without a functioning proboscis, what would she have done to me if she had landed on me, instinctively seeking blood? She wouldn't have been able to get it with her faulty body. Would she have landed on me and been like, "Well, what am I supposed to do now?") Why was I afraid of this little genetic mishap, when I destroy her more perfect cousins without a thought? Why am I somewhat sad to see her dead? Perhaps--and I hope this doesn't sound completely stupid--I sort of identified with that creature. My jaw's messed up, too: I don't know the term for it, some dentist rattled it off to his assistant while I couldn't verbally defend myself. It isn't disfiguring, or even visible except under professional examination for that matter, but I know it's there. I wonder about all the small flaws I have now and think about this antennae-faced creature. A universe in which a living being could be instantly invalidated by a simple chemical accident kind of unsettles me. I hope this creature's life isn't meaningless... and I'm not talking about the mosquito.