Monday, August 28, 2006

Navel-gazing

I was navel-gazing today, literally.  I was about to jump into the shower when I noticed an odd scar just above my belly button, a scar I’d never noticed before.  “Damn cats,” was the thought that went through my head—I’m covered in scars and scratches from head to toe from the cats, although I thought it was strange that I didn’t remember having a big divot left in my abdomen.  Then a light went on in my head:  the “scar” was a hole, from my navel piercing, and my navel ring was apparently long, long gone.  Gone for how long?  I have no idea.  Maybe a couple of weeks, maybe more?  I’ve had a 14k gold ring, a “ball closure ring”, in continuously for over 10 years (minus the two days it was out when I had surgery), yet I’d failed to notice it was missing and didn’t even realize something was off as I gazed at my unadorned belly-button.  I had a “spare” ring in a jewelry box, but when I tried to insert it, one end of the hole had closed over and I had to break the skin to get it through—that must mean the original ring has been out of there for a long time.  Honestly, stuff like this alarms me—I seem to go through life in a semi-conscious haze.  I get milk out of the refrigerator and put it into a cupboard when I’m done with it.  I intend to put something in the microwave but open the fridge instead.  I pull open the dishwasher door and toss trash inside.  Despite all this, I can often do “high-functioning” tasks, and read, and learn new things, but my regular auto-pilot is very broken.

I blame the white noise.  That’s what I’ve decided to call the constant buzzing of pain, the incessant throbbing of nerve endings always calling to my brain.  I wish I could just learn to tune it out, but the pain is always there, like “snow” on a television set.  I need to find something to muffle the sound or shovel the snow or some other appropriate metaphor… either that, or invent a refrigerator with a built-in microwave, and a navel ring which never falls out.

Posted by Leigh-Ann on 08/28 at 10:18 PM
Tired Girls • (3) Comments • (0) Trackbacks • Permalink
Page 1 of 1 pages