It wasn't bad enough that I suffered severe hearing loss, particularly in my right ear (although my left is catching up) due to either an ear infection or something mysteriously known as sudden hearing loss syndrome, but to compound that substantial loss with tinnitus [defined by Merriam-Webster as "a sensation of noise (as a ringing or roaring) that is caused by a bodily condition (as a disturbance of the auditory nerve or wax in the ear) and typically is of the subjective form which can only be heard by the one affected] , which, in my case, manifests itself as an ever-present white noise, just adds insult to injury.

That's the bad part.  But as my wife, family, friends, and all who know me more than peripherally know, I'm a "glass-is-half-full" kind of guy.  So when I discovered that along with the hearing loss, and along with the tinnitus, I was blessed with the gift of a morning visit by Otto-the-Earworm, well, "elated" isn't even close to the right word to describe how I felt.  Nor is ecstatic.  Nor even happy.  None of those words describe how I feel now, either, as ol' Otto has continued to visit.  In fact, he deposits an earworm in what little I have left of a brain, each and every morning.  And I mean every morning.

I use one of those noise generating clocks, otherwise the tinnitus would never let me sleep.  Still, my tinnitus tends to wake me up, and upon awakening, blending high in the mix of white noise and what my clock believes is the sound of the ocean surf crashing upon the rocks, is generally a single line from a song rolling round-and-round my brain.  Sometimes it's not a line from a song, but maybe a guitar riff.  And sometimes it's a dreadful line from a commercial jingle.  Playing over and over and over… While I brush my teeth.  While I drink my coffee.  While I read the newspaper.  (The plus side, hearing "Five…..five dollar….five dollar foot long" echoing around my head often makes the news more palatable.)   Doing the crossword while "There's always tomorrow, for dreams to come true" repeating ad nauseam just adds to the challenge.    

Confronting the insidious repeating line by actually playing the song doesn't help.  In fact, it makes the line stay much longer.  Better to just leave it alone, sing "They were funky China men from funky Chinatown" while I shave, and just try and avoid being nicked.  Eventually it'll go away.  But gone is not forgotten, and a new morning "..is just, a day--a-way…."  Ach.