florafloraflora (florafloraflora) wrote,

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My Own Private Pacific Ocean

I'm sitting in my office with the door locked, the shades drawn, and my dress unbuttoned down to the navel. It's not as exciting as it might seem, just a bad heat rash I developed on my chest and wrists over the weekend. I have medicated ointment spread all over it (and I'm reapplying about every ten minutes, as soon as it soaks in), but I still can't stand to have anything touching it. So I'm not interested in looking decent unless someone knocks on my door.

I can't wait for summer to be over. What with the heat rash, the poison ivy I keep getting (from Stella, I think, by way of her romps in the underbrush), the random mosquito bites, and (I think) hives around my waist, my skin looks like a red-and-white map of the Pacific Ocean. I'm about ready to claw it all off.

And speaking of the Pacific Ocean, I'm finally reading The Island of the Colour-Blind and Cycad Island by Oliver Sacks, the book miketroll was nice enough to send to me. Here are a couple of bits I enjoyed in the first chapter. The first comes from Sacks's journal while flying over the Pacific:
No ships, no planes, no land, no boundaries, nothing—only the limitless blue of sky and ocean, fusing at times into a single blue bowl. This featureless, cloudless vastness is a great relief, and reverie-inducing—but, like sensory deprivation, somewhat terrifying, too. The Vast thrills, as well as terrifies—it was well called by Kant "the terrifying Sublime".
And then there's this, from which I learned a new word, "eluted", which is used just beautifully here:
As we landed, and decamped from the plane, we were enveloped in a huge humid warmth and the heavy scent of frangipani. This, I think, was the first sensation for us all, the smell of a tropical night, the scents of the day eluted by the cooling air—and then, above us, incredibly clear, the great canopy of the Milky Way.
Tags: medical, reading

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