The Post I Didn't Want to Write

Hello all!

I had plans to write a nice, informative, well-thought out post on how "work is play", and "play is work", that discussed childhood, and creativity, and a balanced life that flows.

I might actually write that post someday, but not today. "Why not?" you ask. Because I am overly sensitive to sound.

Yes, you heard me. This is a weird issue I have.

At our gallery, if my husband is listening to music at a "normal" level, it can pull my attention from the task at hand. (Actually, I love music--I sing, read music, memorize music quickly, etc., but have never been able to study or work with music on. I go through bouts of trying to, but I just get sucked into the music.)

I can often hear quiet conversations in the next room (and I actually don't want to hear private conversations, so I usually hum under my breath to obscure the words).

So tonight, while typing away on the post I did want to write, the TV in the other room that I could hear too well through the shut door pulled me completely out of what I was doing--so much so, that I couldn't reconnect.

But, what I could and did do was put in a trusty pair of silicon ear-plugs.

I would be doomed without ear-plugs. I think I would lose my mind.

Actually, it's not just hearing, though. I am hypersensitive. I've been like that as long as I can remember.

If something is itchy, like a sweater or a tag, nothing else exists for me until I get rid of the offending article. If somebody looks at me the wrong way, I get a rash. (Seriously. When my father was dying, I had a huge rash all over my chest. It disappeared a few months after he died. This is just one of many examples.)

I've always been a crier. And not just the obvious stuff that most children cry during (like "Charlotte's Web). I used to cry during that one Dr. Seuss movie where the fuzzy creature has to leave his tree because of urban sprawl.

I still cry sometimes, when I hear stories about war on the news, which is why I don't listen to the news very much.

I used to think of myself as an inside-out person. I felt as if my skin, the protective coating, were on the inside where it did no good, and my heart and guts were just on the outside, getting battered by everything.

I really don't know if this post has a purpose. Is anyone out there like this? Any other highly-porous people out there?

And, my apologies for the self-indulgent post.