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Midlife syndrome

  An inexplicable vertigo to get to the bottom of it
  Many people try their best and still live an ordinary life. I am no exception.
  The strong moxibustion breath, mixed with the faint herbal smell between breaths, permeated my surroundings and every corner of the room for a long time. And I, I don’t know when, I have long been used to this space shrouded in vegetation.
  As you walk, time becomes an acceleration. A lot of days are involuntary, pouring down in an hourglass without a waist and neck. I don’t know when I have developed the habit of taking traditional Chinese medicine internally and moxibustion externally. It seems to be a two-pronged approach, both internal and external, but in fact it is like a mighty army with no clear target, bluffing here . For me, it was nothing more than comfort to my growing doubts.
  During these days, sudden dizziness has always disturbed me from time to time. In just a few seconds, the body became in a trance like weightlessness, the consciousness temporarily drifted away from the body, and the world in front of him began to rotate slowly like a fantasy—the concrete floor under his feet seemed to be a hollow cotton pile, and the plane trees on the roadside Tilting towards the west all at once, a group of unknown birds scatter and fly in all directions; trams speeding past are instantly pulled into illusory colorful strips… everything is unexpected Not yet. However, the moment I tried to calm down, the inexplicable dizziness disappeared without a trace, and there was no trace of it. So much so that when I stated the symptoms to the doctor over and over again in the hospital, I always wondered whether I was lying with peace of mind—I didn’t know whether the world in front of me was staggering towards me, or I was staggering towards this world.
  In this way, every day so repeatedly. Like a fan. Is it a persistent and subtle warning from the body? Or are you waiting for an excuse to spew? Escaping is ultimately not the way to go.
  The ear has become the biggest suspect. I am convinced of this. More than ten years ago, both eardrums were perforated due to negligence. At that time, only the left ear was operated on. Could it be that the right ear developed Melnessy’s disease due to years of delay? This foreign-style name is what I learned from Baidu. In order to thoroughly find out the truth, I searched randomly on the Internet night after night on my own initiative. The more I searched, the more flustered I became, and I hurriedly visited two hospitals.
  The first ear doctor, was a young girl. After I described the symptoms in detail, she just picked up the ear speculum as a routine and looked at it for a few seconds, then said in an uncertain but certain tone that the vertigo may not be caused by the ears, but may be caused by the cervical spine. Too much uncertainty and certainty made me tremble and uneasy. Or decided to go to another hospital to see it.
  This is the largest hospital in the city. The ear doctor is a middle-aged woman. Unexpectedly, before I finished talking about the symptoms, she picked up the otoscope very neatly, and then decisively stated the “authoritative” conclusion – saying that it could not be the cause of the ear.
  stop here. No more tangled ears. Go see the cervical spine. Before the reasons are clarified, we can only rule them out one by one, I think.
  So, register, line up, see a doctor. Pain Unit. I took the trouble to recount the symptoms. The cervical spine doctor held my head with both hands, turning it back and forth, left and right, and the sound of “bouncing” came from the throat clearly. “It’s cervical ankylosing. But the dizziness has nothing to do with it. Could it be a cerebrovascular problem?” The three words “cerebrovascular” seemed to grab me tightly like an invisible claw.
  Then, register again, line up, and see a doctor. Vertigo Division. This is the first time I know that there is such a department in the hospital. A fat doctor asked detailed questions this time, and asked me to walk back and forth a few times like a model, and squat repeatedly. For some reason, I, who am a little cautious, always feel that my movements are not as flexible as usual.
  The fat doctor thought about it for a while, and ordered an examination list, magnetic resonance angiography. I don’t have any entanglements, otherwise I will get tomorrow after get off work. I staggered and hurriedly lined up, paid the fee, and checked.
  In the MRI examination room, a giant “space cabin”-like white machine rushed over with a hint of coldness. Lying on it, the head is tightly bound in a round container. “Don’t move around!” The doctor’s explanation made me even more nervous. The stretched and slightly stiff body was slowly sent into the warehouse. The cramped space was depressing. I closed my eyes tightly. In an instant, the sound of the train “clicking” and the sound of the tractor “chugging–” alternated from time to time, and so on. . The countless blood vessels criss-crossing in the head, even the capillaries, were carefully probed over and over again by the radiating magnetic lines.
  In less than half an hour, it was tense and long. In front of high-tech equipment, I was undoubtedly “naked”. Can this machine read the trillions of cells in the brain? Otherwise, there will be no escape from the many secrets that people don’t want to know and can’t know.
  The wear and tear of body parts and the constant entanglement in the trivial life, I am like a trapped animal in middle age, I am at a loss but do my best, humble and weak but carry a burden to move forward. Living at the bottom, everyone is their own hero.
  The test results were fine. But what followed was that I became more and more confused-the precise inspection of scientific instruments, of course, cannot be doubted. So, wouldn’t all the statements I made to the doctor before become a figment of my imagination again and again? Maybe, from the very beginning, I was in a kind of neurotic conjecture?
  I don’t know if it’s me staggering towards the world, or the world staggering towards me?
  Faced with my many statements and inquiries, the doctor’s brother persuaded me that your problems are nothing to worry about, just exercise more if you have nothing to do, and don’t make wild guesses all day long. But even so, I still couldn’t dispel my doubts. This body, which I have used for more than forty years, has become the most important issue at present.
  In the end, I committed myself to traditional Chinese medicine. I firmly believe that Chinese medicine has its own set of exquisite theoretical systems between the human body and the universe and nature. The grass and trees fall in autumn, spring and summer reincarnate; life is life, birth, old age, sickness and death. The sauce-black vegetable soup should be more understandable—the juice, whether bitter or astringent, spicy or numb, goes down the throat and penetrates into the internal organs little by little. The faint scent of grass and trees passes through the liver and intestines, soothing the spleen and stomach… The full bowl of soup is nothing but the essence absorbed by the grass and trees from the sky and the earth, slowly decocted according to a set of mysterious codes.
  Ordinary grass, ups and downs in the vast universe, born in nature, will return to nature. Sometimes, medicinal soup is like a key that can unlock all mysteries between heaven and earth, not only saving the human body. The heart of plants and trees is just like this with me at this moment.
  Only then did I realize that what I tried my best to seek was nothing more than this world of fireworks.
  A tangled contest with white hair
  Four or five years ago, unintentionally, when I accidentally discovered a few white hairs on my head, a needle-like dull pain flashed through my scalp. He held a few white hairs that had just been pulled out in his hands, which could be ignored in the air, but they were so dazzling on the forehead. I was a little panicked – like a strong castle built for many years, it was easily breached by uninvited guests.
  Time and time again, I tried to stop time with the posture of a “warrior”-looking in the mirror, first clipping my bangs with hairpins, then brushing away the locks of hair on my forehead with my fingers, carefully picking out the white hairs hidden in them, and finally, one by one. Suddenly pull it out. Sometimes, it is unavoidable to accidentally hurt the innocent black hair next to me. The monotonous movements were repeated tirelessly until my arms were sore and my fingers were numb, and I had to clean them thoroughly before giving up. Often, for a hidden white hair, I patiently searched all over my head, one by one, and often waste half a day without realizing it. Faced with a few gray hairs, even I was surprised that I had such patience.

  I am as stubborn as a naive child.
  Is it a warm reminder of time? Or the advance warning of the years? Maybe it’s like the forgotten crops at the edge of the field, protesting by committing suicide due to malnutrition. I consoled myself—it doesn’t matter if you are exaggerating or showing off yourself. This annoying white hair is undoubtedly the “life sentence” solemnly pronounced by time, or the “letter” of the active compromise of aging body.
  At the beginning, there were only a few strands, but after a while, the white hairs on the front of the forehead began to emerge from the scalp one after another without anyone noticing, either a few strands emerged here, or a bunch sprang out there, spreading wantonly while I was panicking . Even a small cluster is too numerous to count. Finally, I decided to cut the mess with a quick knife and simply use scissors to end it. No matter how crazy they grow, they can’t be as sharp as scissors. Every gray hair is destined to be “doomed”-the shining blade sticks to the root of the hair and cuts it lightly. It seemed that the entanglement accumulated in my heart had been relieved.
  I am secretly happy.
  But then, whenever I inadvertently brushed the hair on the forehead, the slight prickly feeling of the short stubble always flashed through the pulp of my fingers. I pressed it hard on the scalp a few times, as if only in this way, the white hair would be more honest. In the mirror, there was a dazzling stubble of white hair, and in just a few days, another half centimeter appeared, and I could only look at the mirror and sigh, letting it grab it wantonly.
  In the end, I still couldn’t help it, and every few days, I picked up the scissors and “swept” it. The monotonous movements gradually became a habit. Every time at this time, the family members laughed and said that no matter how often you cut your hair, your hair will not grow fast.
  Indeed, the stubborn white hair is just like the stubborn me.
  In this way, I often feel fear—even in my dreams, I dream that I am covered with white hair, standing alone on the high-speed giant gears, and they bite and rub each other, crushing myself in an instant second by second , bonding. The cycle repeats.
  A few days ago, I met a friend from the provincial capital. During the chat, she said with envious eyes, your hair is still so dark, so shiny and so natural. I was silent, and lifted my bangs casually, revealing the stubble hidden in it. Haha, I used to cut it like this often, but then the gray hair grew too fast, so I couldn’t cut it in time, so I just gave up.
  Cut off the gray hair, but can’t escape the pursuit of time, and the childlike anger is nothing but self-consolation for worrying. It doesn’t matter if you don’t cut it, or you don’t cut it, it should grow like crazy. After all, the beautiful black hair she once had has gone through a long time.
  Perhaps, a woman’s fear of age is more sensitive and fragile than a man’s—she doesn’t care about the aging face brought about by age, but is worried that as the years grow, she will have a big dream and still have nothing.
  In the afternoon, I was walking by the river as usual, and an old lady walked by. She has kind eyes and kind eyes, is dressed in a decent casual cloth shirt, and has slightly permed silver hair in thin curls, combed properly without any mess. This old lady must have been very beautiful and temperamental when she was young. The old lady traveled through the secular fireworks, after being smoked and stained, but still maintained the elegance exuded from the bones – she has lived herself into a beautiful work.
  Looking at the gray hair on my forehead in the mirror, I didn’t pay any attention to it anymore—
  even if my head is covered with silver hair, it must be the crown of time and glory.
  Some Forgotten Poetry of Fireworks
  When the sunset took the last ray of light from the sky, except for a pair of white ducks swimming leisurely, everything on the river gradually returned to calm. At this time, in the park on Hebin West Road, I had already folded back and forth several times.
  Used to come here for a walk every evening. After staying in the office all day, I like such a person walking aimlessly. Or being in the jungle garden, or walking through the bustling crowds, but I can completely stay out of the surrounding hustle and bustle, enjoying a moment of tranquility in the busy city. I often think about some things while walking, most of them are insignificant trifles, such as seeing my mother’s favorite crispy pears on the roadside, and thinking about bringing some to her on weekends; How is the son in the southern city? Almost forgot, the owner of the flower garden just called to tell me that a batch of flowers and trees had just arrived yesterday, so I had time to take a look; also, I haven’t seen my best friend for a long time, I miss it a bit, and I’m looking for a chance to get together… That’s it, life Being scribbled by me out of thin air, but also fulfilling and happy.
  In this way, a person keeps walking back and forth, aimlessly, walking becomes a conditioned reflex, pedestrians, lakes, trees, roads, gradually disappear from the eyes, and time seems to stop at a certain node… Completely empty, It seems that nothing belongs to me, and it seems that I only belong to myself.
  However, at this moment, I am not as free and easy as usual, and the entanglement in my heart is churning like entangled weeds at the bottom of the river-how can a trivial matter that is not worth mentioning become the last straw that overwhelms my emotions somehow? How many times have I warned myself to discuss things carefully and speak slowly, but why can’t I control myself and explode in an instant… My feet moved mechanically, turning from south to north, and from north to south .
  The evening after autumn is very pleasant. On the bright red runway by the river, people walked in groups of twos and threes, and a few children rode bicycles through the crowd, which was very lively. Several aunts in the square are around the sound adjustment and are preparing to start the square dance, chirping, this is their unshakable happy moment of the day. There was also a family of three pushing an old man in a wheelchair, talking and laughing. Near the place under the bridge, a few fishermen have set up their fishing tackle and are gradually getting into the mood…
  At this moment, they are happy-in their ordinary days, enjoying the beauty bestowed by the small town. I’m glad I can live in this small town.
  I often toss and turn in those ordinary alleys, or on the willow embankment of the river dam in the suburbs, and feel the natural state of everything in the small town—I like to watch a few urchins rolling unscrupulously on the grass in the suburbs of the city; Look at the large expanse of reed flowers by the South River, gloomy and green, swaying with the wind; look at the stones piled up along the river bank, winding and stretching at will; look at the slanted shadows on the river surface, shadowy, instantly washed away by the current…
  After the rain, I have to go out for a walk. Especially in early spring. This is often the case, the lawn that was still bare yesterday will suddenly burst into patches of new green today—the fine grass tips, identifiable, tender and fluffy buds, in the warm and cold spring In the center, tremblingly, there is a small touch of greenery, which seems to be hidden, but also aggressive. Even the few foxtails in the corner are swaying in the wind in a high-profile way, without the usual restraint; the unknown withered grass that has been trampled on between the stone crevices is also green and lovely, straightening the waist. The life force on the earth is faintly like a tide, vigorous and turbulent.
  I am immersed in this, and I am delighted with it.
  Small dreams are more likely to make people feel content and happy. I know that dreams that are too far and too high will never be reached by most people even if they stand on tiptoe throughout their lives. I used to be like a paranoid and confused child who vowed to find the so-called meaning of life, but later, after decades of hard work, I am still ordinary and ordinary, without the so-called prominent status and wealth that the world envies. Living hard, still living a poor life. Simplifying the complexity may make it easier for people to perceive happiness. Life itself is nothing but a self-taught practice. Maybe, the ordinary days are chewing the ordinary life, and so on – the poetry of fireworks that lingers around me every day, but I have ignored it for too long.
  The old man who sings on the north side of the square every night is always so punctual. He wore a bright red linen shirt, pulled the speaker box, held a microphone, and sang aloud by himself—a good song, after his adaptation, the treble became the bass, and the bass became mute. At first, there were only a few audience members watching, but later, there was no one else. But the old man still sang enthusiastically, and he sang for several hours. Once, I saw him humbly ask a boy how to download karaoke software.
  Seeing this, I am often ashamed-do most of us and most of us also have such enthusiasm to embrace every day in front of us?
  As the night darkened, fewer and fewer people passed by. The few fishermen also packed up their things and went home. The empty river sank into dreamland. The flashing neon lights in the distance are reflected on the river surface, as if a lot of red, green and blue paints were sprinkled in the river casually, blurring into a ball, in a trance.
  The street lights gradually went out. I am alone, still standing by the river, with a gust of wind blowing by, and the clusters of trees beside me are silent in the night, like a Buddha meditating——I am alone in this huge night and silence, and I dare not have The slightest attempt.
  Suddenly, there was a gust of water vapor, moist and cool. Not far away, the row upon row of high-rise buildings ignited light yellow light for the last time.
  Turning around, I’m ready to go home.

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