Cardboard or rough wood on my teeth or tongue. Tongue depressors, those little balsa spoon/paddle things that come with cheap single-serving tubs of ice cream, the rough edge of a milk carton on my bottom teeth... ugh.
Oh, yes I can certainly empathize; I hate such things too. Funny, though, I used to shock nurses who put a depressor on my tongue to check my throat because I wouldn't gag like my brother did. I hated the sensation of it, but, by some miracle, I was able to avoid gagging, lol.
I can't type a word without hitting a punctuation key or space bar or both at the end. So if I go back and add a word to the end of a sentence, I hit [period], [space], and then delete the period and space that were already there. Is that a quirk or a neurosis?
That's actually a good quirk to use in a story. Everybody knows about squeaky chalk on a blackboard, but the sound of a pencil on paper? That's unusual.
I'm okay with things like blood, piss, shit, puke etc. But give me a gob of spit on the sidewalk? I have to really hold myself in to keep from vomiting when I see it. I would die if I stepped in it. The sound of hawking and spitting makes me dive for cover. Why? Dunno. I've never been attacked by spit, that I can recall.
I'll have to raid the Archive for that. I have blackmail photos of my 4yr old son in the fairy-butterly princess costume! Heh heh, he's 16 now. Perfect...
Yes, exactly THIS ^ And we, and I and you identify the culprit. Nonetheless we spank each one of the tiny piglets on the bottom, because we can, and on every step on the way to their bedrooms. Goodnight my children. Time to drink wine all night long. .. For me pencil over paper is a perfect and delightful sound and sensation. Thinking about a pencil gripped between forefinger and thumb tracing a curlicue as your Carver says sends a shiver through my timber. .. Also, women vomiting on the 'sidewalks' is an issue. See @vomitface ^ ..ARSEHOLE,
I have to dust the bed before I sleep on it because if I feel just one crumb of something touching my body it drives me crazy and I can't sleep.
It seems to be my kryptonite; it's just debilitating to hear it. One time I had to sign some paper-work for a job interview and the guy gave me a pencil; I returned it to him and politely asked for a pen. I'm a bundle of quirks, but this one is probably one of my oddest ones; I can't fathom why the sound of graphite on paper is such a horrific experience for me, but, for some reason, it is.
Holy hell. Me too! What's worse is, I keep dating people who eat in bed. ARGH! Every spec is so irritating. It's like we just got home from the beach and climbed right into bed. Who eats toasted everything bagels in bed, for God's sake!?
Quelle passive aggressive. Props. My solutions were only slightly less so. In the case of the toasted everything bagel incident, I gave up sweeping, left the room and returned with another sheet to cover the remaining crumbs on my side of the bed so she wouldn't have to get up while I changed the whole thing. It didn't help. It was potato chips or something the next day.
@Iain Aschendale That image of the old man in the care home induces stress. It would make a good prompt. The super-processed, industrial society nature of every element in view. A total lovelessness that is framed in a 'bed.' Chow down the last banana, croak and wiped, washed from the plastic bottle, tossed into super furnace facility at a price. Damn writer wrists giving me the gip, again. ... [On the other hand if that's your DAd/relative/You - he looks great.]
Nah, in real life I'd be much more direct. The truth always comes out, so better to have the discussion than to end up with potato chip grease on the comforter. *shudders*
Oh, I'm direct, confrontational, some would say, but she had a tenuous grasp on what constitutes truth and reality. We usually had bigger crap to fight over than whether or not the bed contained enough crumbs to guide Hansel and Gretel home from the woods. You have to pick your battles.
