I can't remember the first time I noticed the ringing in my ears. I feel as if it's always been with me.
I remember as a child lying in the dark at night, thinking the steady ringing in my ears was the sound of my blood singing.
Later, I remember the telephone wires swooping from pole to pole across the road from our house. I was afraid to run under them because I thought I could hear them buzzing with electricity. They seemed to hum with frightening power. I thought if I ran under the wires, they might fall and burn me. Looking back, I'm fairly sure it was my tinnitus I was "hearing."
Or maybe it was the first time I heard cicadas singing, and couldn't tell if it was the bugs I was hearing or my normal ear zing. I remember being amazed that THEIR song eventually faded into silence, while mine never did.
The League of New Hampshire Craftsmen's Annual Fair experienced record crowds this week, thanks to perfect weather--cool mornings, sunny afternoons, and occasional gusts of wind. As the LNHC director once remarked, "Too cold to go to the beach, too gusty for golf, and not windy enough for sailing.... Let's go shopping!"
The crowds were so steady that the first night back in my studio, I would have sworn I could still here the constant murmuring of throngs of people. It was eerie. Sort of like hearing the rush and flow of the ocean when you hold a seashell to your ear.
I've been reading lately about people who feel almost crippled by their tinnitus. Though I find it annoying sometimes, it doesn't really bother me too much. Perhaps because it's been with me so long, I don't know what I'd do if it ever stopped.
