Profound Hearing Loss. #1

SUPER PROFOUND.   super. Heh.  its not a tragedy.

I have profound hearing loss. in both ears, but one of them is completely deaf.

so grapple that one to the ground a little, if you please.

I was born with misshaped cochlea so i always had hearing loss, and wore two hearing aides from the time i was four.

when i was 26 or so, I was hit by a car door while riding my bike (think wayne’s world)  and broke all the bones in my right ear, (not that funny) which means its currently unfixable… (that one’s a longer story, but whatever. skipadoo)

person riding a bicycle
Photo by Bianca Gonçalves on

what all this means?  i’m not a snob, i’m not aloof, i’m not even as shy as you or I think I am.

but socially? I’m the queen of awkward.  I say hello and its incredibly possible that i’ll have absolutely no idea what you say back.  fun times. i try to figure it out but damn. if its not ‘hi’… i’m a little lost…

the worst possible situation for me is a baseball bleacher set.  or basketball. There’s a lot of environmental noise, people are in all directions, and there’s tons of chatter that comes out of nowhere, unrelated to what is going on in the game.

because one of my ears is deaf, i can’t tell which direction sounds are coming from. someone will say or call my name and i’ll turn in the opposite direction. because ALL the sounds come in the same ear.  its trippy.

so usually i will park myself off a little ways, with my kid who is young enough to want a blanket to roll around on still, or in the case of basketball, I’ll be in the middle of a pack of family, so that no ‘outsider’ chatter will be untranslated by them…

it can be crippling sometimes… like, its just so much easier to stay home, to just surround myself with people who say somewhat predictable things…

trying so hard to hear or figure out what is going on — especially when its just the little drips and draps of casual conversation — is exhausting.

i mean, its hard, like fingernails in the palms, eyes squinted in concentration hard.  and thats all for a punchline that already passed everyone else by.

its not something visible.  its something eminently forgettable.  even in my marriage my spouse frequently got annoyed by my asking for repetitions, and i think it possible he forgot from time to time.  (and this might be my generosity problem, but thats another post) …

i read lips like a champ, and so most of the people that i know have no idea that i’ve got such profound loss. i’m an excellent ‘passer’ .

but i’m getting older. and my tolerance for b.s. is at a particularly low ebb, and so i’m putting this out there for some people who are regularly pissed off at me for whatever it is you get pissed about.


Okay, that last one … its a thing… because I stare at people so much when I’m trying to ‘hear’ them, i really do recognize them by their whole face.  i think its weird too, but I think lots of people are like this. take your damn sunglasses off if you want to communicate.

act like it matters.

Wow. digression. and aggression. whoosh. i’m not actually mad at anybody.  how could i be?  its standard behavior and if i haven’t told anyone i’m almost deaf, HOW COULD ANYONE KNOW?

whoosh. sigh.

anyhow. its part one. the telling.



learning curve

/again and again and again. kate, you must practice saying no to alcohol. kate, you must practice knowing yourself.

kate, you must learn more and more about your own fears and insecurities. all the time, focus on them all the damn time, because you will be pushed and plucked and placed into situations where you will be nudged,

making the first date is really easy for me. choosing to face the second is much more daunting i think . . . its the challenge to my system, a challenge to my arrogance that demands that i not have ‘feelings’… a second date demands consideration, i think.

maybe this is why i tend to just have first dates that last for months. its a simple act of self-protection. call it what you will.  its worked for me up until this point, but it strains now, pulls against the bit.

i’m just tired.

i wanted to have breakfast out today, but my date had a hangover and needed extra time to recover. so i gave him some.

i call bullshit.



Christmas, and the wind howls…

so, there are these things.

  1. everyone should get divorced. everyone. because during the time that the former-spouse has the kids, you do not. so what i get is three full days before christmas in which i actually roll around in christmas spirit.  i might bake cookies, i might wrap something. I danced in the kitchen. i reveled. in the spirit of sparkle and gifting of greens, and all of it. i even went out to a store on christmas eve, to buy myself a present.  god bless marshall’s. i don’t think i’ve ever been into a store on christmas eve and i was there really early, and i was so happy to see that the employees were mostly giddy and laughing, and not beleagured.
  2. don’t get divorced because i say so.  really.
  3. but maybe you could shake things up and send them to your folks before the holiday, to give yourself your own merry. if you have folks, if you like merry.
  4. i just came downstairs after a long bath, ready to order pizza for dinner because i’ve been ill, and i’m ready for bed.  Its 1:23 in the afternoon.   this was both, a funny moment and a sad one.  the kids have been on screens for the entire day, and made their own lunches while i pointed weakly from the chair. barely.
  5. my mom dropped off gatorades because the 6 year old and i were not keeping down any water and i was concerned about other things… 6 year old has now fully recovered and even ate chicken nuggets.  that is frankly disgusting and i’m aware of the possibility of demonic possession.
  6. i am not recovered. but i’m typing, i’m looking out the window.  i’m so glad Christmas is over.  Its just too much for my kids.  Its all meerrrgh.  too many inflated expectations and disappointed faces. its insane.


do you like it? Christmas, I mean. If you do christmas? (though i’ve heard hannukah has its own challenges… and lasts 8 freaking days….) i like it, but only for my rolling around in glitter experience, not as an experience i have with kids. 1227181017a I’m not sure its good for them, and I’m sort of tired of doing it to them.

i’m not sure the ‘spirit of Christmas’ means someone should be distraught because they are just overstimulated.

there’s something of a feeling of being trapped by the expectations, as a parent… and i’d like to figure something out to change it up a bit, maybe give them a few more options as they move out into the world.

hm. we’ll see. i’ve got a little time.




I’ve had sort of a capslocky few weeks, i think.  all within the realm of regular first-world disaster type things… car breaks down by the side of the road, yearly grief over the loss of my father, several strangers online asking me for money making me feel like a chump, my aunt making fun of my weight, a pipe bursting the day before i host thirty of my favorite extended family (including that aunt… giving her the perfect opportunity to see me for the first time in a year and ask me if i like donuts too much …) ceilings dripping with fierce abandon… as a general rule, if not in a horror movie or in a swamp plantation, the ceiling is not meant to drip. just saying.

i fed thirty people. my vegetarian lasagna was not terrible. the soup was called delicious. natasha’s kitchen by the way…sweet potato and coconut milk… i made mine bacon free, with veggie stock… the vegetarian i thought i had –is a devoted meat eater. so we all had more veggies than normal, and we’re all okay.

and then we had desserts…

it is a rough potluck, so i’m not saying i made all the food. AT ALL.

my 73 year old mother made a lasagna that got raves and put a ham on the table… my sister made a gigantic kale/brussel/apple salad that kicked some ass.  there was another salad..(from she who currently is not to be named) and turnip, cheese, rolls and pie and pie and pie and chocolate things…

we are fed. we are grateful.

my stress level did include a whole lot of third-personing, but i’ve stopped now.

and i never even had a cigarette. that whole time.  but i do admit, it is rising to mythological, how much I want to… angels, choirs… athena, diana… didn’t they catch a quick smoke just fine?  … all that… i think i might end up tippling zeus on the porch…. as a substitute…

sigh .  i’m fine.  but i’m tired of character building.


the soup would have really made the composition here ‘pop’ but alas… it was in the kitchen, with all the bowls and a huge slop of spoons… 

its that song… spun on high speed… ‘we are joyful, we are joyful’… super highspeed.

thats my inner world as the whole house vibrates with the industrial sized dryer that is pointed at the ceiling in the other room.


so be it.

resistance is futile.


(my aunt is just that way. i love her anyhow.  i’m still going to eat donuts.  my curves are rubenesque and the men just love them.)

Divorce, Humanity, Uncategorized

Fog continues. Grief. I know fabrics.

Today i’ve turned off all the kitchen lights, and am typing by computer screen, sparkle lights and a damp grey morning. soft wool. 1120180831a

people are really lovely, they really are. above all.  cashmere.

and still, yesterday i almost crawled back into my bed while the kids were here.  it can be done, but i can only handle it when there is no will left in my body, and vomit is coming forth.

so i must have some will left in my body while the fog is here.  i stay out of bed while kids are here.  old school corduroy, stiff, scratchy.

but man, this grief is hitting hard this year.  and its been five years, so there isn’t a real trigger, except in realizing how much time has passed and how mad i am at my dad for not being here for these five years, and how i would really like to have him around, mad or not.  and how i still look for him everywhere. piles and piles of washed cotton, cold and damp.

its been a big five years.

i think i’d still be unhappily married if it weren’t for what his death showed me.  it uncovered the truth of my unhappiness. the untrustworthy man, the unreliable man, the inexplicable man that i was married to brought Bold in the loss of what in many ways was his opposite.  the things i loved so about my husband were washed out by the things which really make him ‘not the marrying sort’… no matter how many times he tries.

and here i am, swamped into the tub, barely reaching the lip to see out.  turning down work, or asking for delays while i sink.  flannel.



its been a big five years. plasticwrap. (not fabric, but still. how it feels.)