Saturday, June 09, 2007

Like breathing in three extra dimensions

I wake up at 2:56 p.m., thinking about my 3:15 appointment with the ear doctor to clean out the wax, I've already decided that it's okay to cancel the appointment but the good news is that it's only 2:49 on the computer so I decide to do the unprecedented -- get dressed without a shower or stretching, heat up some lima beans, do my hair and run out the door. No earrings, even -- probably the ear doctor would just make me take them out, anyway. The bus arrives just as I'm running out the door, and it actually waits for me -- that's how I know I'm having good luck, although it might also be because the bus is stuck in traffic, but that doesn't usually prevent the driver from speeding up -- who cares if I hit a few cars, at least I'll avoid those terrible bus riders!

I'm thinking about the elevator door panels, painted navy with gold trim -- that's old money, for sure. Or maybe just old. When the elevator opens, I’m face-to-face with a tanning salon/plastic surgery experience working a spaghetti-strap blouse with safari shorts and stilettos. This person's face is so even it's startling, for a moment I'm just standing there staring at her nose: an office divider, state-of-the-art. Meanwhile, the doctor says he told me to come back in six months, not sixteen -- he says at least you got the six part right. Then he pushes his tongue deep into my ear canal -- at first I'm surprised by the feeling of his chapped lips against my soft lobes, but then I'm transfixed by the way his tongue lengthens and expands and pulls my head to the side while he sucks everything out -- the pressure is so strong that he only has to do one side, I guess both ears are connected with a special tube through my brain and I don't know what to say because this method doesn't hurt nearly as much as the vacuum cleaner or scalpel or high pressurized water-peroxide mixture drama. The doctor spits something into a tissue and holds it out for me, something gooey inside -- like breathing in three additional dimensions, it drops to the floor and neither of us looks. Come back in six months, the doctor says.

6 comments:

hospodarsky said...

this post is so surprising, and awesome, I want to remember it forever.

mattilda a.k.a. matt bernstein sycamore said...

Aw, thank you -- that's so sweet!

Love --
mattilda

CocaColaChola said...

okay, so note to self...

i need a belt buckle so it can be licked

and an ear doctor so i can be violated in a joyful sort of way in all of my orafices?

i missed you this weekend glorious mattilda...

mattilda a.k.a. matt bernstein sycamore said...

Irina, I missed you too-- let's talk soon!

Love--
mattilda

e. said...

that sounds immensely satisfying!

mattilda a.k.a. matt bernstein sycamore said...

Indeed, although I'm not sure that I hear any better now... oh, wait -- my white noise generator is louder, so that's a good sign.