Getting Better

I am happy to admit that at the time of writing my last little missive I was nearer the half empty section of life’s glass than the half full, but I am by nature cork-like: if I am not held down, I pop back up.  (Also like a cork, I can effortlessly retain a whole bottle of wine.)  Today both my body and my mind are (like the economy according to all governments in power) recovering.

My ears, so recently deaf to frequencies attributable to all but male Blue Whales in mating season, have shown dramatic improvement and at least one of them will be working at anything up to 25% capacity very soon.  I expect to be able to partially follow conversations in no time and believe it will be only a matter of time before I almost fully understand what my wife is trying to tell me.

At the same time my nose has begun to clear with similar speed – at times bordering on explosive – and I expect to be able to use it for breathing any day now.

The raging pain behind my eyes has become no more than a dull, insistent ache, like a tooth that’s just been filled or a shin that has been kicked.  I could tackle it with Paracetemol, but I feel that my liver probably has quite enough to cope with so, by and large, I grin (or grimace) and bear it (eg emit a constant low-decibel whine – like a mosquito in the ear).  The fog in my brain has started to lift and the sun is poking through.  It will be raining again in no time but, you know what, it’s refreshing isn’t it?  I feel as if any time now I will be able to make a rational decision – something my wife has been waiting over forty years for.

My limbs, legs in particular, have thrown off what feels like lead shackles.  I can walk from coffee machine to chocolate bar without having to pause for breath at the fruit bowl because the gunk that has oozed from my lungs (Where has it gone?) has left space for air.  I can breathe without sounding like an antique pair of bellows full of gravel.  There is oxygen to spare for my muscles – the poor, benighted little tangles of myofibrils have started to flex their… er, flex their… well, flex.  I feel as though my legs can just about support my full weight – going above and beyond in all respects – and on occasions shift it from one place to another.  A body in tune with my brain – bless it; it knows not what it does.

It is inevitable that when oxygen intake is depleted the brain is the first organ to suffer.  It is, after all, the main consumer.  It swallows up bubbles of the stuff and turns them into thoughts, dreams, aspirations and fluff.  When it is fully fuelled, fluff is what my head does best.  Bereft it does stodge.  Mind you, it can do stodge at the best of times…

Today at any rate, my glass is half full.  I suppose that it’s typically British that a half full glass is the height of our ambition.  Anywhere else they’d crave a full glass, wouldn’t they?  In the case of human happiness, where else would the highest aspiration be half capacity?  Surely you would just buy a smaller glass…

I think that is where my life is going from now: a smaller glass, but closer to capacity.  It makes sense to me: I know I have the brain of a single tot…

I’ve got to admit it’s getting better (Better)
A little better all the time (It can’t get no worse)
I have to admit it’s getting better (Better)
It’s getting better since you’ve been mine – Getting Better – The Beatles (Lennon/McCartney)