Waking up with vertigo, I realize all things are possible. Except, I cannot sleep or rest, or stop the world from spinning, or lay down. I think I am going to vomit, so I sit in the bathroom. I have just finished reading On the Road for the first time in many years, and I am struck with its greatness. It seems so ordinary, and yet it fills me with wonder. I cannot grasp what makes it great, but I was planning to write a novel in 3 weeks to help me figure it out. But now I have vertigo. Maybe I should watch the Hitchcock classic instead of writing a novel. Except that tv makes me dizzy.

After napping, I am feeling much better, so I call the doctor. Doc, my ears ring, my head aches, my world spins, I am a mess. The receptionist doesn't care where I hurt, but she is happy to make an appointment for me.

When a doctor says, Hi, Mark, how are you? what do you answer? If you say that you are fine, it seems that you shouldn't be there, but if you list ailments, you are whining, having missed an exchange of pleasantries. You tell me, is what I will say.

In the meantime, I rake leaves and plant mums, anticipating tomorrow's rain. And re-injure my knee while raking. Then the doctor tells me that whatever it is - and he doesn't know what - it should subside in a few days. So I guess I will continue to pick up the phone every time my ears ring.

At home, I take out the garbage and walk the dog. The misted moon shines large through the trees, just above the hill. On the way back from the walk, the moon has jumped to the other side of the street. Then it is high and center. I realize that it could not have moved as much as I perceive: it is just the astronomical manifestation of vertigo. I am still dizzy, still walking, still basking in the moon . . .