The Sky Knows They are Poor in That Hour (Smiths)

Language: Italian

The diagnosis, with which I'm not sure I agree, was: canker sore in an unusual and unlikely place. The alternatives (herpes, HIV, yeast infection) were all much worse, so it's not a bad diagnosis, particularly. On the other hand, I'm told I have to just let it run its course, which means no instant gratification from antibiotics, and if the doctors are wrong, I'll be dealing with this for several more days, until I can get back for another option. Even letting it run its course could mean several more days of trouble swallowing.

The treatment recommended to me was alum, which I already had, from the prior canker sore a few weeks ago.¹ It's painful, but less painful than a salt-water gargle, which was also proposed.

So, kids: remember to be careful when brushing your teeth. One hard bang into the wrong spot, and you're jabbing open sores in the back of your throat with alum-soaked Q-Tips for a week. This has been your Babelpop Learning Moment™ for the day.

Meanwhile, varying degrees of miserable. Hence the song. Though I was expecting the title to stay a little closer to the original ("Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now"), this works for me too. I will try to refrain from further throat-related updates unless they're a lot more interesting than this one.

-Jessi

¹Alum is also increasingly difficult to find in stores, by the way. It seems to have fallen out of favor as a canker sore treatment, though I haven't seen anything to explain why. Maybe worries about Alzheimer's? Or maybe it's just that people don't like the taste (sweet / sour / metallic)?

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I was happy in a drunken hour of opacity,
but the sky knows they are poor in that hour.

I was trying out a job, and then I've found a job,
but the sky knows they are poor in that hour.

In my life
why give the important, popular time:
if I die, who are alive but not taken care of?

It passes near two lovers entwined,
but the sky knows they are poor in that hour.

I was trying out a job, and then I've found a job,
but the sky knows they are poor in that hour.

In my life
oh, why do I damage the important, popular time?
Who dies, if not taken care of?

For me, the conclusion has asked: which thing
would have the day? (Caligula blushed.)

"The house is much too long -- have you been in it?" she has said,
and naturally, I escaped it.

In my life,
why care for
people that you would rather give an eye to, in soccer?

I was happy in a drunken hour of opacity,
but the sky knows they are poor in that hour.

"The house is much too long -- have you been in it?" she has said,
and naturally, I escaped it.

In my life
why give the important, popular time?
Who is alive, if not taken care of?