I saw a picture this morning on the Internet that gave me daymares and is still quite vivid in my head. Turns out it was some sort of lotus blossom photo-shopped onto human skin. It was beyond horrible and has since caused me to get Wayne to check my heels for weird holes and to look it up again. Because why not make myself nearly vomit, right?
Actually, I think it’s called research. Or something.
As far back as I can remember, some things with holes have freaked me out. I remember in elementary school, there were two types of lunch trays. One kind was smooth and plastic, top and bottom. The other was made of something like fiberglass and had all these irregular holes on the the bottom. I couldn’t use the holey trays because the feel of those holes under my fingers made me ill. The photo-shopped picture made me feel like that.
And so the research. It turns out that (quel surprise), I’m not the only person who spends hours trying to make their skin stop itching after touching (and it turns out, in some cases, seeing) things with holes. Some British scientists are trying to get trypophobia, or fear of holes, recognized as an actual phobia. I’m just glad I am not alone – it actually makes me feel a tiny bit less crazy.
I did discover that my issues aren’t the same as everyone’s. Regular holes (honeycomb, a handful of straws, etc) don’t bother me at all but they are on the list of ick-inducing for others. Coral is a little bad. Plucked bird skin is worse. I saw a picture of a tree with all these irregular holes that had nuts in them – that one was shudder-creating. Anything on human skin (the aforementioned photo-shop deal, a picture of knees after kneeling on frozen peas [why???], one of stretch marks right after giving birth) gives me the very strong feeling that things are crawling all over me and the almost-real fear that those things are making clusters of irregular holes. In my skin. Oh my gosh.
It’s been a couple hours since I looked at the last picture. I tried doing a bunch of things to reset the oogie feeling. I folded and put away a load of laundry. I looked at pictures of kittens. I renewed the registration on Wayne’s car (yay for online MVA). I got myself a drink. I started typing. And I can still feel the crawly feeling on my head and my arms. Oh and one more weird thing – artificial sponges don’t bother me at all, and they have irregular holes. Only the natural ones. But loofahs – those things are nightmare-inducing. Just imagine all the creepy-crawly things that could pop out of those holes!
Okay okay stop, Karen. Just stop. 🙂
Subject change! We rode almost 45 miles today, ten of them accidental because someone took a wrong turn and someone else followed. I was a tee bit grumpy around mile 35 because it was humid, I was out of water, and the voice in my head that I have all but banished popped in for an encore and told me he did this on purpose. It took getting home, half a bottle of G2, a shower, and Edy’s chocolate peanut butter cup to shut that b*tch up. I bet she grew up in a sponge. Or a loofah.
Fibery stuff is not happening lately. The new job is taking up a lot of time and is requiring a good deal of depressurization that I’ve found happens best when I play stupid, mindless games like Candy Crush and dump my entire brain contents on Wayne. By the time I’ve talked it out, it’s usually time for bed. I’m not sure how many active projects I have (baby girl C’s blankie, a Clapotis, a Now in a Minute, C’s afghan – and I’m sure there’s more, like a sock or something?). I did bookmark a couple patterns today before the whole freak-myself-out session, though, so obviously it’s in my head, just not demanding too much attention.
Reading is…. happening. I’m working my way through Columbine by Dave Cullen (Kindle, library book). It’s really good but it was depressing me so it’s taking a break while I read Gangsterland by Tod Goldberg. Folks I love this book. I’m about halfway through and it’s just awesome. I’ve been listening to Tod on Literary Disco almost daily for the past few months – I discovered the podcast when they were already several years in and started at the beginning – and I hear his voice while I read. Normally, I don’t hear any voice at all, so this is an interesting, albeit strange, experience. Perhaps I should get one of the books of poetry that Rider recommends on the podcast to see if I hear his voice, or maybe try Joan Didion in Julia’s. I also started A History of Loneliness by John Boyne on the Kindle (not sure if it’s a library book or Bookbub). I’m only 5% in so I can’t really give a firm opinion yet but it’s wonderfully Irish and fraught with angst so far. I’m expecting it will be quite good.
After the three I have going, I have two more physical library books to read (Gangsterland is a real book, much like the velveteen rabbit became a real bunny). They are Empire Falls by Richard Russo (recommendation of the wondrous Tod Goldberg by way of a Literary Disco episode) and Water for Elephants by Sarah Gruen (my mom said I’d love it). And after those five books I think I will allow myself to read the third book in the Touchstone series. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold out much longer than that.
Now I think it’s time to read until I fall asleep. If I can stop itching, that is.