Prose - Tonsil Stones

When I exited America last July, there were many things I left behind, but one thing stuck with me: a tonsil stone which had developed after my girlfriend and I had returned from New York. During those precious final few days shared with my love in Los Angeles, I was perpetually perturbed by this minor malady in my thrachia. A tonsil stone is most commonly a tiny morsel of food which has gotten caught in the back of your throat. Aside from being a constant and irritating presence, it is also a very common cause of halitosis.

It must have been a full week after I arrived in Switzerland that I finally managed to extricate the offending article, which had by this point turned into a small and soft white pebble. Naturally as I held it between my thumb and index, nearly delirious at the thought of my own success, I squished it. Two reasons for this: first off, following its extended dominion over my body, I felt an urgent need to demonstrate that I could physically overpower it; I also admit that I was desperately curious as to how such a small item (smaller than the head of a pin) could cause such a noxious smell, so I crushed it and smelt it. I was quite shocked, surprised and repulsed at what made its way up my nostrils.

It occurs to me now that I am beset by another tonsil stone, this one however is not physical. There is a part of me that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I can’t quite put my finger on it but it is clear to me that something is holding me back. I am constantly irritated and rendered frantic by this ugliness within which holds sway over me. I hack and I cough, making ugly faces and sounds, and this metaphoric object slides up and down the folds of my throat but it is far too clever to be ousted by such simple means.

‘Twas an earbud I used to relieve myself of my torment but a few short weeks ago, so what shall be my deliverance from this calamity in the morrow? What metaphysical earbud must I devise and employ to rid myself of my flaw? What will I do if and when I succeed in casting it out? Will I gloat over its corpse? Would I desiccate it in wild, morbid abandon?

These questions I seek to answer seem beyond my realm of thought at present and yet I don’t think I’m too far off the mark, though it is all relative. For reasons that weigh on me heavily, I certainly hope it won’t be too late. The tonsil stone that came out of me found itself in a drain, quickly whisked off far away, never to be seen again. If I take this one out, what may remain? Biology and physics have the luxury of being far more black and white than the grey matter of psychology.