What Still Works

The list is bigger than all my midnight pains suggest. My inventory of efficiency—of success!—is extensive. My other leg is fine. No tenderness, full range of motion: a shining example of the body’s golden design. My temples do not ache. All but three of my teeth are sound. My hearing—not counting the higher frequencies—is excellent. My sense of smell has dulled recently, but my sense of touch has never been keener. Even grit in my shoe triggers temblors of irritation.

The catalog of working parts is not limited to my person, either. Every light bulb in the house still works. Three fourths of all chairs in the house have even legs and do not rock. The front door does not squeak. (The back door, just a little.) Faucet drips are minimal. The roof does not leak. My paranoia, my suspicions, my superstitions (notably problems associated with being able to see inside the house from the street) are all functional. The many fears, of headlights, searchlights, the blinking lights of planes—the many fears are robust.

Words still work. Numbers still work. Pictures… Well, can anything kill a picture? The Image stands atop the mountain peaks, all its flags fluttering. Emotions work. Ever since they first blossomed inside lizard brains, emotions have churned and spoken with many voices, rude and gentle, conniving and cajoling. (Those puppetmasters!)

Still, let us not forget the many—shall we say—issues facing us. Apart from the rib, the wrist, the demonic finger, and the toe, the headache and the nausea: cowlicks, warts, pimples, cricks, cramps, blisters, and rashes. An eyelid that twitches. A sore ankle (and even sorer shin). A touch of tinnitus. A hangnail. One abscess (underneath the tongue). Foul dreams (note: no insomnia). Assorted twinges and pangs. The eternal questions: Is it a stabbing pain? A dull throb? Yes and yes.