Humpty Dumpty

April 8, 2019

I took three years of German in high school and am ashamed to admit that I remember very little of what I learned. My oddball brain remembers the strangest things, like the German word for vacuum and a smattering of insults (Germans have the BEST insults, I’m telling you). My brain also remembers the nursery rhyme “Humpty Dumpty,” in its entirety because we had one assignment where we were given a nursery rhyme to translate into German and I got the Humpty Man. WHY does my brain remember this and not useful things like how to ask for directions or make hotel reservations? Because my brain is hard-wired to remember stupid shit. It’s why I can recite every soda jingle from 1976 but can’t remember how to do the simplest algebraic equation.

In case you were wondering, the name Humpty Dumpty in German is “Vigela Vargela.”  Humpty Dumpty is fun to say, but I’d contend that “Vigela Vargela” is the far better moniker. How awesome is that?

It is awesome. Unless you become Vigela Vargela, which is no fun at all.

You know, broken.

Shattered into a million bits that are almost impossible to fit back together again.


Good News: I got somewhat of an answer for the double vision stuff.

Bad News: The answer was, “Well, your eyes aren’t really communicating well with each other. It’s a nerve thing and there’s really nothing to do about it so sometimes you’re going to get double vision and just roll with it and don’t freak out.”

Gee, thanks.


Last week, I started physical therapy (vestibular) because I am so off balance that I’m crashing into everything and have absolutely zero depth perception. I had to drive 2 weeks ago (just a few blocks) and had to re-park the car three times because I couldn’t get the car between the damn yellow lines. Proof positive that my arse doesn’t belong behind the wheel yet. I had a panic attack on the way home, certain that I’d be pulled over at any minute and thrown in the drunk tank, cold sober but lurching nonetheless.

I seriously walk like I’ve been to a rager of a kegger.

It’s humiliating.

So I went to physical therapy and guess what?

Not only are my eyes not communicating well together, my eyes and my ears aren’t communicating well together, either. Which causes a person to walk like a drunken Godzilla, knocking down everything in her path.

My body is a walking argument, apparently.

Hatfield vs McCoy.


Bad News: There’s bickering in my brain.

Good News: Physical therapist thinks she can at least help with the ear part of the equation.

Bad News: Treatment for the ear stuff is kind of torturous; they make you spin and turn your head every which way and backwards, and you leave with a barf bag, because that’s what you do afterwards. You also are supposed to sleep in a vertical position the night after treatment. Ummm, you ever tried sleeping in a sitting position? There was a time when my Daddy-o could do it (he could sleep anywhere, under any conditions) but I am not made of such strong stuff.


Vigela Vargela be bitchy.

But we’re pulling up our britches and heading off to barf therapy twice a week (at least until May).

Trying to put the pieces together again.

{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }

Papa Guy April 10, 2019 at 2:15 pm

Oh My God, But you can freaking spell….and rhyme….
rager of a kegger
drunken Godzilla
bickering in my brain
Those are all awesome, as are you. your stronger than you know.
Stay safe, take care of yourself, this ageing shit ain’t for sissies!


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