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October 18, 2002

I have a mild form of synaesthesia, an integration of the senses, which most commonly manifests as people who see letters or words—or hear sounds—as colors. Predictably, my situation is not nearly as interesting or artistically exotic; I experience some abstracts as possessing spatial properties around me. The best example I can give is how I perceive a calendar—October is approximately level with my right hip and about fourteen inches away from me. November lies behind the left side of my head, but is in closer proximity—about three inches from me. December swirls around my ankles.