December 13th, 2009


(no subject)

Fancy, she says dourly. The Japanese don't have a word for sinus. I mean, they do, just as there's a word for the scaphoid and lunate that give me such grief, but we don't talk about them in everyday use, and the Japanese don't have sinus pain. Fancy.

It's still better than having the room lurch every time I move my head, if not by much. But for some reason it's a perfect condition to read Flaubert's Parrot to (an ancient copy, nabbed from I know not where, with water stains and pages about to fall out) so I go do that. Even if the whole exercise reminds me of reading Flaubert in the late 70s, and revives the horror and wanhope of that experience just a little too vividly. 'On the whole I am glad I will never be twenty and have to go through all that again...'