I woke up this morning with the world gently tilting out from under me. I think it’s some cold or similar thing diddling with my inner ear. When I first got up, standing upright and stationary was nearly impossible. When I closed my eyes I saw a swinging clock pendulum or a sledgehammer pounding back and forth, back and forth. I’m better now, enough that I’d trust myself to drive–I didn’t before–but I have to chart my peregrination like a drunken helmsman interpreting the navigator’s called directions.
The word “woozy” and variants have been running through my head all day. There’s Fritz Leiber’s invention of wordwooze, completely disposable literary product turned out by machine for the masses who demand a new book every day. Then there’s “wooze” as a variant of blues, and of course, it’s supposedly a drug reference. It’s enough to make me want to lie down.
In fact, that’s a great idea.