Fergus

I've written before about the geological processes of aging--the shifting of tectonic plates, the cutting of new valleys and the pushing out of hillocks where all used to be flat and smooth. And of course, as part of this process of formation and erosion, soil shifts, rocks tumble, cliff sides suddenly give way. This last month has seen lots of shifting and tumbling. Take my teeth: a typical morning; I'm chewing on my usual peanut butter-and-whole wheat breakfast waffle and CRACK, my tooth falls onto my tongue. Much choking and spitting ensues. Or take my skin: suddenly white bits shower down like stones and sticks cascading down a hill. For the first time in my life I have eczema patches because, well, why not? there's all this other weird shit going on, so why not massive skin flaking?

And then there's Fergus.

About a week before Christmas I notice this large black thing in my left eye. Kind of like a fly, with a circular body and a squiggly tail. I figure it's eye strain, shrug it off. But the fly won't leave. And then comes a 24-hour massive bout of pain in that eye. Scary. So off I toddle to the eye doctor. Turns out the pain was coincidental--sinuses? psychosomaticism? who knows? But the fly--the fly, the doctor tells me, is permanent: my eye cavity is deteriorating; bits and pieces are detaching. The fly will always be with me. "But it will only be really obvious if you're looking at, say, a white page." Umm, you mean like a book page or a computer screen? "Yes, exactly." Right. I'm a historian. Book pages and computer screens. There's my life. Hello, permanent fly.

So, I decided to make the best of it. I've named him Fergus. He's my new pet. Like many of my pets, he's incredibly annoying and won't let me alone. But he's mine.