what's the matter with you -- are you deaf?

Being deaf is rather fun. Though I'm supposed to say "hearing impaired" to be p.c., it's my "disability" and I'll call it what I want to.

I guess I also am not supposed to use the word deaf if I can partially hear. I claim it anyway -- it doesn't matter what you say -- I can't hear you.

I am reading a novel about a man who is h.i. -- he calls it his deaf sentence. I find most deaf folk have a good sense of humor. Maybe it is partly because we are not bombarded with noise all day long. You don't know how noisy the world is unless you are deaf and then put in some hearing aids.

Another advantage is that I can go into deep contemplation most anywhere. There are very few distractions. Unless there is a babe in the room. Both kinds -- a baby babe or a babe angel. I am deaf but I am not dead.

When I first got hearing aids some decades ago, the ear-tometrist said after I had put them in, "There is only one sound that will really drive you up the wall." Then he took some paper and began crinkling it up nonstop. He was right. I wanted to hit him, but he seemed to think he was performing me a valuable service. I still think about that man. The need for vengeance is long-lasting.

I used to go for walks with a guy who was blind ("visually impaired"). We laughed a lot. We talked about the deaf leading the blind. I always felt protected because he had a stick. It wasn't a little dinky stick either. It was an oak staff, about the size of a small tree limb.

I find I cannot hear folk who talk through their noses or their upper throat at all. They have thin voices. No depth. I hear folk more readily who talk from deep within their center as if they are solidly based and anchored. They come through. I find I can usually tell whether a person will have a thin little voice by the way they walk -- all tentative like.

If I had to choose an "impairment," it would be hearing.

Silence and I get along just fine.