Spoiler: I have visual proof that I have internal organs. Yay?

In a misguided attempt to clear out some of the clutter in my house, I stumbled across a mysterious bubble mailer. "Ohh, there's something inside!" I chirped to my cat as I plucked it from the stack of long-forgotten paperstuffs. I peered inside with a mix of wonder and curiosity that should never be used when approaching abandoned envelopes. Folks, these envelopes are often abandoned for a reason. Sometimes these envelopes contain photographs of one's own endometriosis-riddled uterus and intestines that one's doctor gave to them after their laparoscopy some years back. Doctors hand out weird souvenirs.

While I have no problem viewing highly detailed, graphic images of my own viscera (oooh, shiny), I'm not too keen on the icky evidence of endometriosis. Because that shit jacks things up. And in me at least, it is (or was at that time) legion. And healthy uteri are fine to look at, but the uterus of an endometriosis patient looks just as distressed and miserable as the patient herself. No wonder I pray for death every month. Thanks for the reminder. The lesson to learn is either label the damn envelope and file it with my medical stuff (the responsible adult thing) or fling it in the corner in horror and forget about it until the next time I feel foolishly ambitious enough to tidy up (the more probable outcome).

The worst part about all of this is how the pictures prove that "Endometriosis" is actually a medical thing and not the name of the razor-clawed hobgoblin that lives in my pelvic cavity and throws an epic hissy fit every few weeks. Bah, science.

So do random unexpected horror-finds inspire you to be better housekeepers, or do they merely reinforce your "nah, I'd rather curl up with a book than clean" mentality?