I'm Smelling Something Bad -- That's Good!

I'd said before that I think I have olfactory hallucinations.

The tricky thing about it is I've never been officially diagnosed, so it's all anecdotal, what I tell myself and suspect. The thing about senses is that you have nowhere objective to stand from which to judge them. I suppose if you had instrumentation and science you could come to better conclusions. But if I was going to do that, I'd go to the doctor. So far, I prefer going it alone, because, for the most part, I don't mind them.

When I first noticed this -- and there's links above with links within some of those posts if you want to see what I've written before -- I thought it was all objective. To the point that I was scrubbing floors and walls to get rid of bacteria. But because others in the environment weren't smelling anything, and because it all went away after a while, which bacteria wouldn't be likely to do, and because I discovered online that olfactory hallucinations is an actual thing, I quit scrubbing, etc.

Usually everything is perfectly OK. Like right now, everything is more or less perfectly OK. I'm not smelling anything extremely vile or disagreeable. And when I do, frankly, it doesn't bother me that much. Nothing really lingers, not like a few years ago.

It's a big jump from really worrying about it a few years ago to embracing it now. Maybe there's some link, I hope so, between olfactory hallucinations and the creative process, and happiness, or even the more spiritual dimensions of life. My guess is that whatever you embrace you can use for personal profit. If you think it, you can live it. Which is what I'm trying to do. I read a good verse today:

The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. (Song of Solomon 2:13)

Of course I read that in the most mystical sense presently possible for me.

Think about this, if you're evaluating all the nuances of your experience, and the nuances are varied with hidden dimensions, it really gives you something to think about. This touches that and everything gets affected along the way. It does happen to be my belief that there are stranger dimensions of reality than we typically see, so anything to open that up seems pretty much a plus. The trouble is, you might just be smelling rotten garbage...

If you are just smelling rotten garbage, it only takes a few seconds to get up and objectively make that determination. And anyway, in my case at least, there's nothing quite that profound about what I smell. I don't think I'm so far from objective reality in the nose/brain that I can't trust it.

Still, it's definitely good to test, which is true for all of life. If you're testing, experimenting with this or that dimension of reality, what better way to appreciate and enjoy it? I'm thinking maybe too much conscious reflection means you spoil the experience, since at some point pure experience is more desirable. But I'll cross that glassy sea if I ever get to it.

Right now, I keep wondering, What's that I smell? There's a hint of patchouli (I have some by my computer at home), a hint of some exotic vapor in another part of the building, a touch of something industrial when I wander around, something pleasant on my fingers, and who knows what all they've touched. I'd rather smell them than lick them, so at least this isn't gustatory hallucinations!

The way it stands now, if I'm smelling something, that's good! If you're spiritually stifled, breathe! Smell more stuff!

The Smells I Smell

I've written several times about an occasional problem I have. I'll just give two links. My Nose Sniffing Things and Smell Hallucinations. The latter article is best because it quotes some earlier pieces.

To a certain extent, the problem has manifested itself again, but, thankfully, not as bad. Still, it's noticeable enough that I'm thinking about it.

Just to recap how far back this goes at this point, it was September or October of 2008, a long time back! It seems like it wasn't till after the first of the year, apparently March 2009, that I read on the internet that one of the causes of olfactory hallucinations might be brain tumors. So the good news for me is if this is brain tumors, I've done pretty well! Brain tumors are out, my own diagnosis.

In those first months, I was convinced that what I smelled was really there. I was buying peroxide, I was buying Oust air freshener, I was scrubbing under my desk, scrubbing the floors. I poured peroxide all over the hardwood floors and mopped it up. The Oust treatment in my reading room was the worst, because it left a thin film of Oust all over everything, of course including the books. I asked someone else if she smelled all these weird odors and she said she didn't. It was very hard to believe.

The very first manifestation of the problem happened when I was visiting family out of town. I could've sworn that something literally died in my pants. It was crazy. No one was saying anything, but I figured that was out of kindness. I was repeatedly changing pants, changing underwear, all without saying anything about it to anyone. But none of it really did any good.

Isn't that freaky? It makes you think you can't trust your senses.

As I said, more recently the odors have been back, but not nearly to the degree of before. But I am definitely catching whiffs of things that smell like they ought to be hosed down, defumigated, set out in the trash, and reported to the health department. Everything is suspect. I'd love to know more about the alchemy of odors, of combinations, and how perceptions of odors work. And what anyone else thinks about this problem.

When I'm out and about and catching these odd whiffs, something always occurs to me, that they're hard to describe. I can never pinpoint what it smells like. Because they don't really smell like anything you can compare them to. The potential seems to be there, though, for anything wafting through the room to mix with something else and to be transformed into a third, more angular stench. Maybe it's a plate of food from the next table mixing with your plate of food's smell. By the time it gets to your nostril, odor-wise it's brown with big claws.

Now, just imagine what it's like to walk by: An aquarium, a coat rack, a pizza restaurant, a shower, a bathroom period, or what your hand might smell like after shaking hands with someone. 

We always like to think, and I usually assume, that my reality is the same as everyone else's. Of course there are great differences in how we think about the same body of facts. Truth to me seems obvious, but my Republican enemies have a totally different take. This is simply a difference in opinion in the nose, or more accurately, a different of opinion between the nose and the brain. My guess, something in the brain gets an odd stimulus from somewhere and so what is normal becomes wacky.

Yet some things are completely normal, so it's a mystery.

A Hiatus Health Update

No, no, no, I haven't got a life-threatening illness, disease, or syndrome that is the real reason for my hiatus. But if I did have such an illness, that would be great reason for a hiatus, because I would need time to battle my way to full health, enduring a grueling regimen of applying various salves from the Mexican black market. You may say I'm "stuck in the '80s" for saying this, but believe me, there's nothing quite like the horse medicine they've got down there.

I know where the rumor that I have a life-threatening illness started. I mentioned how I get these terrible olfactory hallucinations, which means I smell things that aren't there. Or I'm smelling what's there, it just smells differently than it used to. It's like a dog's hearing with a greater range of frequencies. There's a way to help your dog, by the way, but it's expensive; someone actually markets a collar with a graphic equalizer, so that's progress. But ... getting back to me ...

I also said it's possible that I have a brain tumor, because that's one of the known causes for these smell hallucinations. But now the whole situation is a lot better. I'm not having them as often or as bad. There's a couple possibilities. 1) I don't have a brain tumor; 2) The hallucinations are just something in my nose that's out of whack, like matted cilia. Or it could be that I do have a brain tumor and it's just not that bad a condition. I do have a theory.

My theory on tumors is not as well known as it should be. I looked it up on the internet but can't find anyone else advocating it. Briefly it's this, that there are two kinds of tumors, stationary tumors and free-floaters. The stationary tumor is the worst, because it abides in one place all the time, and all it has to do all day is eat and get fat. But your free-floaters are on a trajectory like a comet, and that motion is good. Only when they're close to your brain on their path, that's when cause the most trouble as a brain tumor. Then they move on and the noticeable symptoms naturally decrease, and for the most part you're OK. Even the sniffles you get from a cold is really, probably, just from a free-floating tumor, so tumors are quite common.

What I've been saying about my hiatus all along, believe it or not, is the real story. But since I'm not thinking very clearly today, for whatever reason, you'll need to read some of my old posts to see what I've been saying. I really don't remember. Please excuse me today -- and all through this hiatus, however long it turns out to be. Maybe it will indeed be full retirement. I haven't considered that yet, but now that I think of it, it doesn't sound like a terrible idea. I'm getting some dark spots in front of my eyes. My eyes are burning. I think it's happening, friends, that my free-floater is advancing up here somewhere on its path. I hope it doesn't slow down and stay.

The spots aren't terrible, but I can't keep my eyes open. There's some throbbing, nothing back here, all toward the surface. I need to knock off the blog now. I'm going to go sit under Grandma's grow lamps. That's some relief. I'm fine, I hope. Be patient. Must go.

My Fun Imagination

That was fun -- but I probably don't have to tell you, it was exhausting -- yesterday when I wrote about my imaginary visit to Skidrow. I felt like I was sweating blood. I definitely had a trickle of it on my forehead. There were some scary parts. At one point my nose was running.

My nose has been running in the last hour too. I'm not 100% sure why, because my abilities to diagnose things as a physician are still in their formative stages. Since I'm having olfactory hallucinations, though, the nasal drip is probably related to that. Everything's fairly tame as far as "the hallies" are going. So please don't think you're about to lose me. I haven't had it checked out. But I swear, if I do see any other signs of a brain tumor, I will go to the doctor, or, at the very least, see what I can get for it over the counter.

What I'm doing for it now is simply blowing my nose -- I blew my nose, let's see, about 35 minutes ago. Then there wasn't a waste basket, so I'm thinking, should I just put the tissue anywhere, like here or there? No, I thought, because my room's getting to be a pit, with books and papers and things strewn about. I'm wearing a jacket so I just stuck the tissue in my pocket, thinking I would dispose of it properly when I got near a waste basket, but then when I did I forgot, so I still have it in my pocket.

OK, getting back to my fun imagination. I had the whole thing yesterday of the imaginary trip to Skidrow -- I'm calling it a visit. I've thought of it a hundred times since. I really liked (in a clinical way only) the setting of the bar that I visited in my imagination. I've been wondering if I was too hard on the woman at the end of the bar. I mentioned how soiled and rumpled her dress was, and more than a little insinuated she was a hooker. I called her loose and seemed to suggest that she'd been bed hopping through most of the day. Maybe I shouldn't have layed it on so thick.

Some of the rest -- were I to read it in someone else's imaginary blog -- I might say sounded like a lot of cliches from movies we've all seen. But in my case, since I know what I imagined, I was trying to sidestep the movie cliches. A million of them occurred to me. The guys at the pool table. I could have described them as tattooed, mustachioed, swarthy, sweaty, beady-eyed, greasy-haired, shiftless, disheveled; chalking their sticks repeatedly, pacing around the table looking for angles, using the bridge at key moments in the game; casting menacing shadows from the light above, etc. But I didn't say that. I kept it subtle yet evocative of a thousand images, when I said, simply, "Two lowlifes are busy smacking the balls." That's just right as far as I'm concerned.

If I overdid it at all, it'd have to be with the guy making the pizza at the scuzzy pizza parlor. But I was getting near the end and I think I was just overeager to leave the reader with a memorable image, like a dagger to the heart. A dagger to the heart is something you don't forget. So, yes, rereading it just now...

Down the block I see the scuzzy pizza parlor. A cook smacks the dough like he's mad at someone. He probably is. I'd guess he hates himself, at some level. This was my big chance at life, and I ended up on Skidrow, making pizzas for lowlifes, which I also happen to be. There are some very sad thoughts taking place down that block.

I can see where I should have ended it, or what could have been excluded easily. Just omit everything from "I'd guess he hates" through "I also happen to be." That's a lot more evocative. Reading it like this I get goosebumps: "Down the block I see the scuzzy pizza parlor. A cook smacks the dough like he's mad at someone. He probably is. There are some very sad thoughts taking place down that block." That's a thing of beauty.

So, that's it for the day. My fun imagination wins out again. [Pumping my fist in the air]. Yeah, yeah!

Be A Little Bit Humble

My sorrowful cry is this, "Death be not proud ... be a little bit humble."

I'm as humble as wallpaper, plain wallpaper. I'm trying to be extra humble, lest I find myself in the throes of a whole panic meltdown. It is a wild and crazy ride, the psychic inflation that goes along with procuring and installing the actual Old Faithful geyser in your back yard. I forgot this was going to happen. But even though it's not actually turned out and squirting yet, naturally I became proud, celebratory, and now I've been reduced ... in ways I really hate to describe ... because part of the whole thing about getting back up is to keep the torment somewhat hidden. Not neglected but fairly under wraps.

Cousin Roto has long since gone home. I don't know if he ever pays any psychic price. He might be one of the brutes of our species, without the extra sensitive knobs and whistles that I came with. I remember that as kids, at Christmas, he was very unsentimental. Not as appreciative of family traditions and formalities. He's probably doing just fine. He installed Old Faithful, big whoop to him, no doubt. He actually went home because he's ticked off at me. My barking of commands wasn't pleasant, "Gas jets on!" Then "Off! Off! Off!" I couldn't make up my mind. I figured it'd blow.

The humility instinct finally kicked in after some stern reflection. My bout with olfactory hallucinations seems to be getting worse. I don't know if there's a connection. I had to change pants a while ago because of the smell. Which smell is probably not even really there. Because I think I'm smelling it again. Parts is parts ... and the whole system is tied in one piece with another. Whether the smells are there or not, I still smell them. So it's getting me down, that and this enforced humility.

When, or I should say, if I ever get the thing working, I'll need to watch it with one eye blinking or something, so I don't feel too proud. What do you think? 50 per cent awareness equals 50 per cent pride?

Old Faithful -- The Actual Geyser

If I tell you what I wished for and that it actually came true, you're not going to believe it. I could tell you how it was accomplished but I don't expect anyone to believe it. So, how about I just don't bother to convince you? If you don't have faith in my word, you're invited to leave now. A man's word is his bond. That's what Grandpa always taught me. I remember asking him what that meant, "What's a bond?" He wasn't sure what it meant either, but said the point was that what you say is supposed to be true.

So if you want me to put my hand on my heart, I will. Or to swear on Grandpa's grave, I will. How else can I say this? What you are about to read is true.

I contacted the owners of the Yellowstone Park. I literally did. I told them that I was dying, and maybe I am, from olfactory hallucinations, and that my last wish was to own the Old Faithful geyser. I knew I had a good shot at getting it, but even with that I was amazed that it was no problem to them. The reasoning makes sense. When something is as faithful as Old Faithful it also becomes boring to the owner, because "Familiarity breeds contempt" but "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." They were happy to give it up, and when questioned as to why they didn't get rid of it before they said no one else had ever had the optimism to ask for it before.

Having Old Faithful might do me good on two fronts: One, the fame I'm going to have and the extra income from tourists at my place; Two, the healing hot waters might help clear my nose and head. If I'm sniffing near it right when it blows, I will get a noseful of water and that will clear my sinuses like nothing you can get over the counter.

Anyway, there's a widespread misconception that Old Faithful is a thing of nature. They've kept that up as a myth to fool the tourists and I might want to keep up the facade. I heard them hinting around on "Mythbusters" that Old Faithful was a fraud, but they had trouble constructing a full scale model of it, so it was never proven. As it turns out, it was built in the late 1800s by an eccentric millionaire. It has a whole mechanism under the ground, including two enormous steel balls that hold and heat the water, then a central tube that leads to the surface that spews it as far as the eye can see.

It was lucky that I and Grandma now own Old Faithful, because we've had lots of digging experience, digging outhouses over the years. I can show you the half acre right now. If you see all those 4 by 4 patches where the grass is especially green, that's where we used to go. That's a lot of holes!

With some digging -- and with Cousin Roto's backhoe -- we got the big steel balls and the heating mechanism installed, then the tube, the timing device, the rocks to surround it, etc., and it's been heating up for a while. I don't know what's taking it so long. It seems like it should be blowing pretty soon. I might need to go out and stoke the fire or use one of those fireplace bellows.