a slow break

I feel like I’m holding onto a brittle piece of rope on the edge of a cliff.

I want to hold tight so I can climb up over the edge, but if I hold too tightly it will crumble in my hands and I’ll fall.

I knew today I was taking a risk going to hear live music in a small space, especially when I awoke this morning with a headache. Within minutes of stepping foot into the record store I knew it was a mistake. The vibrations rocketed through my body, jostling my head and ears as I very quickly looked through the bins. It wasn’t long before I had to make a dash back to the street to hear the music from a distance, to catch some air before the gig my friends and I were hoping to catch started. I think the damage was already done through, my ear was aching, but I was trying to push it aside. Once we stepped back inside (this time with earplugs)  it was like I was back on that plane in December, fighting so hard the urge to vomit, and just like the plane, there were no exits. At least no clear ones once the music started up again.

Sometimes I think you can will your body into thinking its okay. It’s only a momentary thing though, yet sometimes that’s all you need. I was able to keep anything from flying through the air until my friend walked me back to my car. Once she rounded the corner to go back to the festivities I was able to throw up in peace, and say a prayer the dizziness didn’t surface.

I can’t tell you how hard it is  not to be able to enjoy something you really love. It’s like someone is slowly ripping off a band-aid from my arm – I almost wish it’d go quicker so it wouldn’t hurt so much.  Of course, I don’t mean that, but its times like this – curled up into a ball, constant tinnitus  – that I wish for the fast rip.

Maybe I should take up knitting or something.

Or maybe I should fuel my concert budget into another writing class. If you’d ever seen me knit you’d know that was probably a safer bet. In the meantime, it’s raining cherry blossoms and I bought some George Carlin on vinyl.

And we know how laughter helps. Even if its at a low volume.



Filed under honeybees

7 responses to “a slow break

  1. Oh, man, I am so sad to read this…

  2. Well, I am feeling a lot better now – nausea wise that is. My ear will be sore for a few weeks, and hopefully nothing else will set it off. Just have to lay off the music. I pushed it too far this week listening to loud music. I should have known better. I am set to go to the neurologist this week, so perhaps some answers we be had…one can only hope, right. Trying to stay positive, even though I’d like to yell.

  3. Well, I really hope you get some answers from the neurologist…I just can’t imagine how hard this must be for a music fanatic like yourself.

  4. Oh no! And you were so looking forward to the day!

    I’m glad you were able to score some Carlin though. Feel better.

  5. This is just positively cruel Allison. For someone that loves music as much as you do. I can very well understand your desire to scream about this… I am glad though that you were able to partake in a small part of the day at least. I know you were so much looking forward to it.

    Positive thoughts on some hope from the neurologist though and better understanding of this.

    Take care my friend. Thoughts are with you.


  6. WC: Suspect more tests will be run, which means I might get answers in another 8 months. ;) It’s frustrating, for sure.

    Barb: I think I’ll continue to support my record store throughout the year and avoid the live music next year. Glad I was able to pick up some Carlin too, never fails to make me laugh.

    Sean: Right now I’m more worried about the upcoming concerts I have – Fleet Foxes and Pixies in the next 2.5 weeks. Hoping neither has strobe lighting. Thanks for the positive thoughts!

  7. Yikes, happy thoughts to you. I hope the neurologist can give you some answers and solutions.

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