She saw the world through her word eyes. She discovered this in senior year high school while sitting on a rug at a classmate’s house, reading some borrowed book about people and things and places that were never there but at the same time were. Meanwhiles and neverweres.

What she saw were squiggly letters telling her to get off the rug it was late and it was time to leave.

She sees people as words. Words in the shape of a person. (Like some designer’s typography dream.) She sees beauty when she hears what people have to say. (Her senses are dependent on each other. She is an auditory lunatic who goes by what she hears. What she hears shapes the world that she sees, you see.)

She found that the emptier the person’s words, the uglier the person-word-shape appears to be. (But words were her world, so even the “ugly” person-word-shapes have their place in it. She’s like that.)

If you were her friend she’ll probably let a mispunctuation slide.. If you were her friend and on the very rare occasion she makes mistakes (less rare these days) and you catch it? You can tease her about it and never let her live it down. If it was you, on the other hand, it was expected and she’ll correct you in her thoughts. Because you are her friend.

If you were her friend her word eyes become a problem. She is great with words but she is rubbish with numbers. And dates. And time.

She lives life unblinking, which is why the big things blind her sometimes.

Disclaimer: THIS POST IS GOING TO BE GRAPHIC/DISGUSTING — recovery is disgusting/beautiful

This post is going to be about my belly button — the loss, redemption and eventual prodigal return. I was never truly sure we’d meet again.

An update to my “belihole” situation: it has been more than two weeks since the cutting of my belly. Acroxia had long since left. Walking around doesn’t feel like my insides are jiggling anymore. They are acclimating to the new situation, trying to move on at the loss of a former neighbor. They know now that none of them are safe now.

In addition to that, the last two weeks have been about becoming an unintentional early riser. The belihole has a sensation of a cutter running up against it constantly. There’s also the itch, which keeps me up. I stay awake for fear of scratching my belihole during sleep and finding intestine under my fingernails upon waking up. The itching is less now, or I might have trained my brain to ignore the sensation.

There’s also fear of sneezing. I never realized how much of an involvement the abdomen truly has when it comes to this involuntary action. Trying to stop it only makes it more painful. My fears are founded: I sneezed so hard, I sneezed my guts out. (sort of) I have been back to the hospital and it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Now: there’s a patch of unskinned belihole, which I hope will dry up soon.

There has also been a lot more walking. Apparently, if I don’t walk around, my insides will stick to each other.

***

Enough of that: here is the miracle of miracles:

The first image was taken on 01/08/2012:

The next one was taken on 01/12/2012:

Which sorta means nothing is swollen anymore, and I’m losing the IV weight. Which is awesome.

Belly button, how I’ve missed you.

Above: my stomache held together by staples. Also, my belly button, where is it.

While everyone was getting rid of bad habits (or at least promising to), I was getting rid of my appendix. Didn’t have a say in the matter, really, it had ruptured a few days prior to me being taken to the hospital (I refused the hospital visit … I thought it was just stomache pains from eating too much ham).

At around 9:30 in the evening, my friend Kash tried calling me. 9:30 was the exact time for my operation. There might be something cosmic about that. Or maybe not.

I’d like to tell you about the experience, really, but I couldn’t remember anything past the anesthesiologist placing the cannula for oxygen on my nose. There was a spinal anesthesia involved, but a small dot on my back is all I can show you.

I woke up hours later, groggy, sore, sleepy. Also, a catheter. A catheter!

For the next two days, I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything. Which sucks when your family visits with food for New Year. My food came in IV form.

My first meal for New Year’s eve: the hospital liquid diet special. Jellyace tasted particularly sweeter that first day, and water seemed exciting.

At the same time, my IV is infused with antibiotics every four hours. Dextrose will make you fat. My days of the IV have left me heavier and rounder (or maybe my stomache parts are still swelling?). As of this moment, my belly button is yet to be seen.

Went home on New Year’s Day afternoon, and lived with staples until just this Thursday. (I can now tell you what that feels like.)

I guess that’s my week. What did you do with yours? Happy New Year!

[image via reddit]

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Inspired by Sunday’s rerun of the hoarders episode of National Geographic’s Taboo: am I a hoarder?

[Above] just a couple of things:

• Toy packaging – I have every single piece of cardboard back/packaging from every toy I have ever bought since I started collecting. They live in various places around the house. Mostly hidden. Unlike the living/breathing-clutter floors from the show.
• Souvenir shirts – Whenever I get handed a giveaway shirt: I just stuff it where I keep my clothes. Most of them I have never worn. After that picture was taken, I took them to get washed. (After which, I’ll probably stash them somewhere, only to have them get dirty again.)
• Cigarette tins – These are just a few things I keep. Not pictured: fancy (empty) cigarette boxes, lighters, matchboxes, etc.

These are just a few things I still have with me. Can I live without all of this clutter? Yeah. Will I get rid of it anytime soon? I really can’t tell.

The first step to correcting a problem is identifying that I have a problem. The first step in identifying a problem is deliberating whether a condition or status is a problem or not.

Is it a problem? Not at the moment, no. I think not anyway. Will I clean everything up? Not yet.

Memory / Trophy Aspect

Batman keeps souvenirs from his foiled foes as trophies. I think it’s his metrics in his war on crime. Trophies are great reminders of things you’ve accomplished and they serve as inspiration for you to do more. It’s a way of eating your fears. (yeh!) I did just compare myself to a fictional character and I’m trying to sell you on the idea that keeping clutter will remind me to be a better person.

Okay, clear the screen: if I had trophies instead, would it still be right to throw them away and forget about them?

I could pick up any of the packaging or receipt I have here and I could tell you a story. I could organize this clutter autobiographically.

Comfort / Procrastination Aspect

I like to keep packaging because I like knowing that I can box the items up again, make them look new. I have unopened books and toys and DVDs and glass sets meant to be given as gifts but I never got around to. What does that say about me as a person? (I wouldn’t rely on myself on the psychoanalysis.) Let’s neurosis.

Hoarder Aspect

Maybe I am a hoarder. I can’t pinpoint exactly what triggered/triggers it. Maybe I’ll devolve into the kind of hoarder they feature on television on shows about hoarders.

***

Here’s a nice article I read earlier which is related: The Many Reasons We Rely Upon Our Clutter

[Above: The best my camera's sensor could do. Moon Glides by Brilliant Jupiter]

Read: Carl Sagan’s piece about Earth from Jupiter.

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