One afternoon, last week, I suddenly couldn’t smell anything.
It took me awhile to realize that I was surrounded with intense aromas. I had just opened a new vial of Rose C02 and my head was spinning.
The next day, my sense of smell was better, but my heart wasn’t into my usual smelling routine. My nose had had it.
So, I set about eliminating smells in the lab. I now keep all my working materials—some test-tube racks and bottles in various trays—in a covered box when I’m not using them. My “organ” is in little bottles in covered drawers. I don’t leave anything out except ethanol. When I’m done with my smelling strips, I seal them in one of the tin boxes we use for sending out samples.
Kate says the smell has lessened. My sense of smell is coming back, but not my enthusiasm.
I’m convinced that more is at play than the nose alone—the brain, too, must adapt. It’s channeling new neural pathways, in a 68-year-old, not an easy task. I sometimes find myself exhausted after a smelling session and in need of closing my eyes and drowsing for 10 minutes, much like I feel after an afternoon spent at an art museum. My brain needs a reset, a short period of rest to regain needed points of reference.
To further reduce the olfactory muddle filling the room, I want even purer air. It’s too cold in Brooklyn to open the windows this time of year. A hood would help, but that’s complicated and expensive.
I bought an ozone generator, but haven’t used it yet, because it scares me. Having ozone float around my old books and other prized possessions leaves me a bit unnerved. At some future date, I shall delve into the fascinating subject of air purifiers.