Hello! Welcome back (to me)! Sorry about the hiatus. Between Hemo going AWOL and work stressing me out to the point that I was seriously contemplating violence (towards others or myself), you wouldn’t have wanted to read what I had to say. It would have been a black hole of four letter words and inexpertly rendered Paint images of headless, bloody torsos.
Nobody needs that at 9:00 in the morning.
So now I’m back to a system of self-imposed punishments and rewards that gets me through the day. I realized I had hit a low point yesterday when I wouldn’t let myself go to the bathroom until I had finished the make-work I was in the middle of. Just to spice things up and bit and add a sense of urgency to the mindless task at hand. When I had stapled the last informational packet, I was flooded with a sense of relief and walked with new-found purpose to the restroom.
I was reminded of when I was a kid and was sent to clean my room, “and I’ll be checking your closet, too,” my mom would ominously intone. Fuck.
Of course I didn’t say fuck, I didn’t even know that word until probably 6th grade (thank you Jennifer Johnson!). I would chew on a Barbie foot for a couple minutes, completely paralyzed by the task at hand. Bored and seriously considering my Dad’s offer threat to throw the whole mess away, I’d wander down to the bathroom to kill some time.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning your room?!?”
“Jeez, Mom, I’m peeing. Aren’t I allowed to pee?”
Magically, upon returning to my room with an empty bladder, the task at hand never seemed quite so daunting. I’d go about “cleaning,” or shoving dirty clothes and My Little Ponies in drawers and under the bed. Mission Accomplished.
So anyway, I’m (hopefully) back in the blogging saddle. I’m declaring my own personal challenge of 30 posts in 30 days. So be prepared for an onslaught of unsolicited minutia of daily life. Like how I was in the stairwell and work and it smelled REALLY BADLY of powerful BO. Like, on par with how Steve smells after spending all day at the rendering plant and then running 6 miles at the Y. Bad. But there was no one in the stairwell except for me, leaving me to contemplate how bad a person’s body odor must be if the ghost of it is haunting a 3 story stairwell.
On second thought, I’m going to hope that mystery goes unsolved.