Imagine you’re a child, and the sweater your mother dressed you in feels like sandpaper chafing your skin. The sensation of the threads rubbing across your arms is so irritating, you can barely concentrate on anything else. You grunt and whine in frustration, trying to convey your feelings, but you can’t put them into words that make sense. You throw a tantrum, and finally your mother removes your sweater. Then she casually turns on the dishwasher. The buzzing of the motor rings terribly loud in your ears. You run into the corner of the room, covering your head and moaning. … Continue reading →