Eeeeeeeeeeeeee

Lately there’s a ringing when it’s quiet.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeee.

It’s physical I’m sure, but I don’t like that idea, I don’t like the idea of making an appt with an audiologist. It seems boring and expensive, and I don’t like to pay for boring things, I don’t even like to pay for exciting things, so I try to work the Eeeeeeee out of my ears and project it onto the landscape, and sometimes it works.

Like right now. The eeeeeeee was happening. As soon as I heard it, I thought, You are not happening, and at that very moment, somebody started screaming outside.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Not like "Eeeeeeeeeee, I'm dying." Like "Eeeeeeeeeeee, I'm drunk. I love ya!"

One early Sunday morning I found a furry bra on Wayman--on the north side of Isaacson and Son's Fish Market. It was on the ground by my car.

There it is again:

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

My head is so full of ringing lately, I’m not sure there’s enough room for necessary data.

Today I couldn’t remember how people greet each other—-I don’t mean appropriately, given the situation—-I mean greet each other in any way given any situation.

I read in a book, “And then we greeted each other” and my mind vaguely could feel what the word was, the physicality of the word, but it wouldn’t go any further than that.

I knew a woman once who claimed she was addicted to dopamine. I don’t know if that could be true. I’ve never heard of such a thing. She’s South American--though I’m not sure if that might make her dopamine addiction story more true. Anyway, she said when she was trying to get off shooting dopamine, she became psychotic, and she couldn’t remember what money was. She went into a store and her husband said, “Wait, you have to pay for that!” And she was like, “What is this ‘pay’?” And he was like, “You need to give them money,” and she was like “What is this ‘money’?”

This woman was a seamstress and had her own dinky little store, and she told me she was a stylist for Cher way back in the day and that she was a stylist for Shakira (at that time) and also that she fitted Iggy Pop, which was the highlight of her life because he was her idol. Or maybe she said if she could fit anybody, she would fit Iggy Pop? Because he was her idol? I don’t remember.

I remember thinking at the time Man, I wonder if she’s full of shit, this girl. But I had a feeling she was telling the truth because she seemed so unimpressed with herself.

Once I was in her shop, and a customer came in and wanted her money back for a pair of leather pants. The customer said, “They’re too tight. I can’t even wear them.” And the leathermaker said, “No they’re not.” And the girl said, “Yes. They are. Look at them. I can’t even get them up. They are hurting my bones, like my bones hurt from these pants.” And the woman said, “I’m not making those bigger because they’ll look like shit. Go home and put Vaseline all over your legs aand then pull your pants up and don’t take them off for three days, and they will be perfect.” And the girl was like “But...” and the leathermaker said, “Okay. Goodbye.”

I googled her recently and she was listed as a stylist for one of the Lady Gaga videos. I guess it is possible to be addicted to dopamine.