Your shit affects other people. Your shit.

A dear friend once told me that my shit affected other people. It was the key phrase, the magic phrase that saved my life once. And sometimes it saves me over and over. Just those words: "Your shit affects other people."

I've struggled with my shit. I've struggled with other peoples' shit. This December was not different. For whatever reason I take more in than I need to. I've grown to accept for the most part that I do see things differently than most people. Oh, I'm fun to be around...in small doses.

I talk about change. Sometimes I make the small effort. But, I don't really make the big effort. I just haven't made the big effort.

Why? I'm not sure really. It's like I'm holding my breath. Waiting and holding my breath. Some people just label it depression. So people label it apathy. Blah, blah, blah.

I started giving my shit away. I started throwing my shit away. Is there some significance in that? Maybe.

This year by birthday came around. I didn't really want to celebrate it. I didn't want anyone to give me more shit. Shit that I would have to use. Or, more shit that I wouldn't use, and it would just sit around collecting dust. Man, people don't like it when you don't want to celebrate your birthday. It's a big fucking deal. Well, sometimes it's not.

And Christmas came around. I heard the phase Employee Pricing so much that I wanted to load my handgun and blow a giant hole in the T.V. set. Holy Cow!!! It was everywhere. It wouldn't stop. I don't want to bale anyone out, and I don't want to buy a pile of shit that's supposedly been cut down....it's still a pile of shit.

Come on....If we really wanted to bale people out we'd have better programs for the elderly, the homeless, the forgotten children, and the mentally disabled. That would be a bale out. But, we don't do that. So, those of you who have to get another job besides making shit cars...well, fuck you. Most of us have had to do it. Humans can learn to do more than one thing. Seriously, fuck you. You could have started making better cars in the 70's when the first big gas shortage happened, but you didn't take the clue then. So, really fuck you.

I also didn't feel sorry for the French guy who killed himself after loosing all his money. He had a hellofa' ride before he slit his wrists in his office. We'll probably loose a few more just like him. We've been top heavy for quite a while now. It won't get better until then.

I suppose this year, I realized how much stuff I buy and don't need. Christmas doesn't even feel like Christmas. It feels like a giant sale of employee prices shit. How did we go from Jesus to here. I don't want to ask myself what would Jesus do. The question should be what am I going to do. We all know what Jesus would do. Or the idea of Jesus would do. It doesn't even have to be Jesus. Pick another really super example and use that. Yes, we have come to mass produced pieces of plastic shit to remind us.

I was glad that it was the worst holiday season in thirty years. Good. Good for us. Maybe there is a ray of hope for our souls yet. Maybe there's a ray of hope for my soul yet.

Frankly, I'm embarrassed. I have embarrassed myself. Buying, collecting, having so much shit. I am truly embarrassed.

A couple of weeks ago, after this guy at work showed me an email picture that he got...It was a boob. Just a boob. He finally got an offer. Well, good for you. That was his shit, and it did effect me. Stupid. We have the Internet, and people gotta' send titties and wieners. Yep, titties and wieners. Nice.

Anyway, I went outside. It was dark, the moon was out. It was cold. I stood there and took it in. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to sleep outside, in the cold. I could build a fire. I've got dogs. I've got blankets. I could make my food right there on the fire. I wanted to sleep. Maybe my dreams would take me on better adventures than my current life would.

Then I went back inside. I went back inside to my pile of shit. I don't think that I want shit anymore.

The words of my friend ring in my ear. My other friend asked me what I was waiting for. I can do anything...so what was I waiting for. Yeah. What am I waiting for?

It's going to take me a bit to get rid of it all. But, maybe this is the year. Maybe this is the year.

Maybe this is the year.

Noteworthy

Another "virgin" birth occurred in the shark world. Simplified, it's the process of the egg splitting, and reforming, without the addition of any male sperm, and then forming a new viable being. Several species do this normally, some do this only in times of duress. I'm sure I'm going to get in trouble, but, given the duress that women have been under for so many eons (need we really bring up the words such as Clitorectomy or Palin?)....one might point to Mary and wonder if she was the first woman recorded to have a "virgin" birth in the human species. Perhaps woman have done this before, and could maybe do this again. Hard to say, but I did find the point noteworthy; and perhaps hopeful, on so many levels.

The Very Essence of Dark Matter...Big and Small

Somewhere there's a list of things that we're not supposed to touch. I'm not just thinking about things like the burner on the stove or the fork in the light socket...not those obvious things... somewhere there's a list. We could probably ask Stephen Hawkins. He may know of the list, or have it buried on his desk with all of Einstein's notes and predictions. I'm pretty sure someone has it.

No, I do not think that there's a secret society of some sort. I've long given up that theory. We're just not smart enough to have one. We're smart enough to hang out with like people and keep some secrets, just not smart enough to have an actual secret society of some sort. Someone always talks, or breaks ranks, or leaves clues. We're just not that smart. So, someone has the list. I vote go ahead and give it up.

Most of us, including me, are too busy to be thinking about the list....or, just thinking at all. At some point, we just don't think. There's a certain comfort in this. Comfort in the daily grind. Comfort in all things non-imaginary. Most things we just take for granted, like they're just there, and that's that.

Example: Who was the first person to think about dark matter? That's really using the ole noodle. Instead of just assuming that there was dark and light. That there were just things floating about....there is a matter, a physical thing that is holding the light or pushing and pulling with the light. Fantastic. So obvious. I'm just sorry that I didn't think of it first.

I thought this week about space, dark matter and aliens, a bit. An astronaut of high rank came forward to tell us all that there are most definitely aliens. It was in the news. I don't disbelieve this. Why not?!? What can't there be aliens?!? I'm not ready to assume that they are all smarter than we are. I'm sure that their are some, but probably not all. What are the odds that they are ALL smarter? That would really suck, if that were the case. Just look what we do to our own not smart people....if it us against the entire universe, well, we're screwed. Let the probing begin...bottoms up people...bottoms up.

Also, I'm not positive why the government or governments would keep this a secret. Is it that these aliens really are that cool, and we would pounce on them like we do the likes of Marilyn Monroe, and they just don't want to deal with it...all that fame? Is it that all the churches would fall because we would find out that what we thought was a God is really just a short grey female/male from a distant planet and there would be just a downfall in the economy from the churches no longer having money or maybe there would be such a mass suicide that we wouldn't have any workers left to tend to the crops? Or, everyone would want to leave and vacation party like it's the Florida Coast, and the aliens just don't want their shrubbery and lawns tainted with smoke, vomit, beer cans, and the smells of teenagers fucking? Hard to say.

Maybe they don't even have things like Males and Females. Maybe they don't even have sex. That would be a shame to not have that. And desserts, like snow cones. Sex and Snow Cones. Yeah, there are somethings that we have that are cool.

I don't think that I would freak out that much. Go ahead, make the announcement. Maybe it would finally rid all of our overpopulated planet from so many dumbasses and we could start again. We are a planet of weak minded people sometimes. Just see the American Library Associations list of Banned Books and the reasons the books were even tried for banning. Every year there's a new list. Really, even now, there's a list EVERY YEAR. I personally have yet to read a book, any book, that has swayed me to do this or that. And if someone is that easily swayed...well, we do have to question. Please do not respond with the Bible. Please.

Back to the aliens. My other thought was, since they probably exist, who did we entrust to sign the Inter-Galactic Peace Treaty? We obviously have one. I wanted to know to signed away some of our asses for probing for a few advances in technology. Who did that? And if you have been one of the chosen ones, who has been probed, could you get a copy of the IGPT, and find a loophole to get yourself out of the probing? Or, if you have not been chosen, and would like to sign up for probing, how does one go about signing up for that? It seems a little like a draft, no questions, no background checks. I feel quite sure that we would have had enough volunteers, had we been asked. Yes, quite sure. There wasn't a need to be so pushy about it.

Also, which of our lawyers is certified in Inter-Galactic Law? There has to be lawyers...there's always lawyers. Or is there a branch of the ACLU or some international group, that is educated to deal with these highly sensitive matters? Yes, I was just wondering. I haven't seen any news or commercials. Where are the suits? There's always suits. Am I just not looking in the right place? Instead of a black or grey suit, I suppose it should be a space suit. Is there a toll-free number? or a toll-free laser of some sort that we should have access to?

I was told my a dear friend, that the rumor around NASA, at the time that he worked there, was that there were lots of different kinds of aliens. And that we were a sort of amusement for them. Well, I can believe that. We're a source of amusement for me, too. Constantly. I find myself a source of amusement. And that there are even rumors...that's just like us. Most of our daily existence is speculation, concoction, and rumor. I'm not shocked.

But, if they do have some advanced thinking that would help us not just mill around daily, I sure would like that self-help book. They could just beam it into my head, I'd be ok with that. Well, given that it wouldn't break my mind....maybe just a few key chapters. Surely if they can speed around the universe, they can offer up a Self-Help Book with some actual relevance.

And what in the Sam Hell does this have to do with me. Nothing really, I suppose. I was just mulling it over, that we really don't know dick about the ways of the universe, and even less about our own existence day to day. At least, I don't seem to.

In the last month, I have had a series of serious dreams, vivid and shaking - often staying with me way past dawn and sometimes for days. In the last month, I've seen my past, my way - way past creeping up on me from the long buried cracks and crevices of my mind and my soul. People, actual people coming alive again from the dusty boxes I had neatly stacked for storage. I've been in shock about it really. Mostly shock. I have been quiet and staring blankly. Absorbing, dreaming, breathing - taking not a lot of action. Shock.

I am a separatist of sorts. I've kept things in control and non-linked most of my entire life. If you were to see the state of my car floor bed, it would be hard to believe this. But, it's true, I do not like to connect things and people. Then what would happen?!? Then what?!?

I suppose it's due to my upbringing- all the rules of a small town. The person that I am that has continually been told by family, leaders, friends, society - that I cannot act a certain way - that I cannot think a certain way - that I cannot be a certain way - Well, it's led to being a separatist. I have been able to make sure people, for the most part, feel safe (because we do like to feel safe), and I have been able to exist, for the most part, very happily.

Evidently, there are people out there who have been thinking about me. Can you believe this? Frankly, I'm shocked. Who would look for me? Who would hunt for me? Who would give me a second thought? And Why? I am so unbelievably ordinary. Who would bother? Seriously, what impression could I have left that would make people think of me? And do I even want to be responsible for that impression.

AND, of course, I wondered, what did they need from me? I am usually very busy, have a full life, tons of great people around me...would I even have the space to give? Holy shit, that's a lot of stuff. And if it's money...well, good luck with that. Part of being ordinary is being ordinarily broke. Seriously, good luck with that.

I have managed to be buried, to be unknown for somewhere around be past twenty-five years. That's a pretty good run. Not as good as D.B. Cooper or the Mayans, but still, pretty fucking cool run. I believe that I may still have the option of continuing my hiatus, somewhat...I just need the cash to buy a small spot on foreign soil - preferably an island. I don't need that much.

My friend Paul, who I haven't seen for a few very stupid reasons for about eight years, my dear friend Paul, who I finally saw the other night. He told me that it was just the planet Saturn moving around in the Universe. That Saturn was the planet that brought up new things that you haven't started, and old things that you haven't finished - yes, Saturn - hanging there making us do things whether we wanted to or not. And my dear friend Paul, who I do not think that he realized how much of an impact he made in my life, and he was standing there giving me the most comforting advice about this crazy month, that I had heard. And my dear friend Paul, who I didn't realize just how much I had missed him, until he stood there. I have been a fool to not check on him, all this time. I'm not being dramatic, Paul really is that fucking cool. We'd all be lucky to be around him more.

Which circles round to the list of things that we shouldn't touch and dark matter and aliens. I have begun to open the past. I have begun to dust off the boxes and throw all of the stuff out on the floor of my mind. This giant pile of papers, and knickknacks, and widgets, and the copies or copies, the scribbles on notepads, and the pictures...piles and piles of dusty papers falling to the floor, covering my neatly arranged desk - fluttering about, touching the ceiling, crunching and crinkling under my feet as I walk.

It has felt exhilarating and overwhelming. In my mind I am sweaty and out of breath from pulling out the drawers and papers - looking desperately and vividly for the list of things that I shouldn't touch. I am filled with energy and exhausted - all at the same time. All of those different things, not always good, I was not always good, that made me what I am today. I'm not sure that I want to deal with all the good because it is wrapped up with all of the bad. Not everything was good - not everything was good. And I'm not sure that I want the responsibility of forgiveness - whether I am giving or receiving it. I'm not sure that I want the responsibility of responding. I'm not sure that I was the laughing and the crying. I'm not sure that I want any of it. What do I personally owe? I did not come looking. I did not ask. Do I owe if I didn't start it? Reasonably, probably so...just a bit. I should probably check in a bit. It might actually be worth while.

Twenty-five years of quiet...it may just not be enough. All these piles....

Stephen Hawking are you there? Do you have the list?

Do you feel like making a bet?

Soul Vomit

A man was convicted this week of sticking his baby in a microwave. It was a small article buried with the other shit. The baby has had several skin grafts, and will bare these scares for the rest of her adopted life. It was in a hotel room, near a beach, the baby was crying. We've seen the hotels near the Texas coast, they're not pretty or fancy. Hand-me-down bedding, the smells of cleaning supplies and sand and stale smoke and booze. He just stuck the baby in the microwave. Took the time to decide how many seconds he could get away with, set it, pushed the buttons, and without a pause pushed Start. He later took the baby to the hospital, and tried to pass the third degree burns off as a really bad sunburn. The mother was at the hospital supporting the man.

Now we're having a trial, because we're fair, and sometimes it's because of God, or he's crazy and we should care.

My first thought about this story was simply fuck you people. This story has stuck with me. How can it not touch you? Even though I don't know them. I'll never meet the little girl. I'll never see how she's going to dress, or who she's going to hang out with, or what scars she'll bare. Her life began with surgery and hate.

I'll take the wrap with God for all of us. Seriously, I will. I don't have so much hate for people like this guy that I need to make it painful for them. However, I don't seem to feel a real super warm fuzzy about keeping them alive anywhere. I'm ok with the death penalty. I do not think that you can do such a horrible thing to anything, and somehow through punishment or shitloads of counseling suddenly become a viable member of society. Aren't we just kidding ourselves if we think that we would want this guy for a neighbor. Every time I put my food in my own microwave, the thoughts came. It stuck with me. I couldn't eat.

The anger of the story stayed with me. It mulled over and over in my brain. I suppose it's these kind of stories that effect people enough to take action of some sort. Ok, I support the legal killing of another human being.

In the same week, a chimp escaped from a research facility here. It's not the same climate I'm sure that the chimp came from. But, if I were the chimp, I'd take my chances on the outside with the weather and food and stick around there.

I imagined just how scared the chimp must have been. How determined the chimp must have been. The amount of careful thought and spirit it must have taken to take flight and fucking run for it's life. Saying goodbye to the others. Passed the walls of confinement to air, plants, dirt of freedom. The chimp got caught. It was without a name, or an in depth worry news. That life just became a blurb. As though it's life was not as worthy of notice as the traffic we've been having.

I hate the way we torture animals. It makes my heart and soul hurt. I don't know how those humans justify looking into their eyes and do what they do. What work is that important? Nothing. I have a disease that's going to kill me. I take that as mine. But it's part of nature, part of life, I'm not supposed to work or give influence, or breath forever. I am supposed to die.

I couldn't find anyone to talk about my feeling with. My heart hurt. I was sad. And these things on the T.V. said to inform me. No way to act on the information that I received. I was somehow just supposed to take it in, and then what? Then what? For your information only is a crock of shit.

I wanted to see the man and woman, with what they did to their baby, dead. I wanted to make sure that I voted correctly. I know that some countries world wide have gotten ride of the death penalty. I don't care why, there isn't a reason that's good enough for me. It's not good to just keep people here. We have too many people here already. Some people just draw short on the DNA lottery, their brain or soul doesn't work right, something is defiantly wrong, we can all agree on that. And it is sad, more sad than most things, but I have no misgivings about getting rid of them. I could sleep just fine knowing that their life was wasted and we ended it. Sleep just fine.

And the chimp, I wanted to get in my car and find the chimp. Yes, I know the chimp would have been violent, and could have hurt me. I would have brought it home and found a refuge for it; away from testing. Yep, I would have taken my chances with the animal. I couldn't do it, it had already been caught and taken back. But, I would have. Fuck it, I would have done it. Stuff like that is that important. I don't even like zoos. I don't even like to kill bugs.

So, I thought we could just free the animals and test on the bad humans. Not like history has done in the past, to just any old human that's not liked. But, the child molesters, the people who abuse or murder, I don't have a problem with that.

I'm just saying what we're all thinking, so don't' yell. It's just a blog. But, the older I get, the more horror that I see, I have no problem with experimenting on bad people. Let the mice and the monkeys go. Go ahead and put the man and woman in the microwave. I'll take the wrap with God, and hell, I'll even push the Start Button.

I laid near my new flower garden, so sad, nothing of the tiny petals that could dissuade me from the mood, and cried.

Sinkies better than Floaties, or is it the other way around....

I guess I didn't have anything that I wanted to read in the bathroom. I have lots of things that I should be reading. Sometimes I don't want to have that kind of committment to my poop. Just having to pay attention to my shit is committment enough.

I'm trying to get healthier. How can we not? We've fucked up the food system big enough that some of us get too much, and lots of people don't get enough. So, here I am. I've been trying to keep up with what's ok to eat, what's not ok to eat. If my shit is good enough. If my poop signifys a change for the better. I sometimes feel quilty about putting anything in my mouth, as though taking a bite of the genetically engineered food is taking from someone else. The guilt is so big and stressful that I either have gotten tired, indigestion, or constipated from it all. That can't be healthy. Thus, my poop on those days are no good. And what about the methane that I'm contributing to the planet's atmosphere? God help us, our existance is almost unworthy. I cannot produce good poop to honor your creation.

Shit, shitty, McShit, Shit.

Fighting for your own space in this world is a bit oppressive when you have to worry about your poop. Sometimes I just vision us, all of us, as this giant swirling mass and I'm constantly amazed that we haven't been flushed all together. How can one not believe in the Chaos Theory these days? I eat, I poop, and somewhere on the planet something dies, is born, etc. Being a part of the swirling mass has it vantages. Do I simply ebb and flow? Do I swim upstream? Having to pick what my responsbilities to the mass are, as oppossed to which ones I can just let go, just let go to the swirl. Do I have responsibilities to the living micro-organisms in the poop? OR, just the bigger picture? Shit, shitty, McShit, Shit.

Today I had floaties. Yesterday I had sinkies. There are articles about which kind of poop are better than the others. I think that they flip-flopped opinions at some time. There are poop experts. I do find this funny. Shit doctors, shit disectors, the Poop People. Some of the CSI units even have them. Your poop can tell quite a story. Even poop fossils. Even that. But, do we even trust the poop experts? There are, after all, only humans, just making guesses. After all, nothing in this world is permanent...it just ebbs and flows.

I put a big glass vase outside my house in the garden I created. Glass is only solid to those of us that can't see it moving into mush. It's not that solid. I wondered if I would live to see any of the glass move downward, melty, even just make lines that it was moving downward with the force of gravity that I can't see. It gets sun everyday, and it's hot here, so maybe. I've made a habit for now to hold my head sideways and look everyday. Maybe. Just maybe.

I took the family to see a comedy show. We all went downtown. The energy is different in a downtown. The air is different. The people are different. It's faster, it's slower, it's brighter and darker. Things colide in a downtown. We walked and held hands. We had pizza in a little cafe; as though that pizza was so special from other pizza, and it is. I gave my son two quarters. He gave one to some kid's jar for support with some disease. Then he bought a gumball with the other. Sometimes we're so busy we all don't even get to really look at eachother. My son that was so tiny once. He's tall and thin, and expressive. My family is cool. I thought to myself that I didn't know how people with children could be mean to eachother, or divorced or anything. I just don't know about that. I tried to stare as much as possible, I wanted to absorb these times into my memories, my blood, my DNA. It was more than love and wonder. More than awe. We don't have a word for that energy.

We went into the theater, past the swirling masses of cool people. I didn't want to consentrate on them, or make room for them. We only had money for one t-shirt. I bought it for our son.

I wanted to get our son backstage to meet the famous people. I played the handi-capped card for him. It got to be good for something. I told everyone about my disease, and how it has affected our family life, and this was a big night for all of us to be together. so if they could just get his shirt signed or something, that would be so nice. How nice would that be? At first, there was no hope of getting him backstage. But, I was patient. I had done this before when I wasn't diseased. I knew that it would work, given time and hitting up the right number of people. I looked really sad and hurt, and showed my pleading eyes. Smile. Finally, they all told me what to do...but that it might not work, we might get kicked out. I said thank you, I said the right tone of wispy, grateful, heartfelt tone of thank you and that was ok too. If we all got kicked out, then my kid would have that experience, too.....getting kicked out of something cool. That was fine, too.

The show had a lot of adult humor. When we got backstage to the famous people, one of them looked surprised and maybe a bit judgemental about having my small child there. I told him that most of the humor when over his head, and he'd already heard his own mother cuss, and he didn't like it, so, he wasn't going to say that stuff. Our child was more conservative then me, he had made that decision for himself, and I didn't need to interfer. Also, there's so much violence, ugly sex, hate, war on T.V., in school, around him in his day to day world that I can't protect him from, and this show was funny....why wouldn't I want to take him to the things that are witty and funny and full of good? He was surprised with my answer, met my cool kid, and helped get his shirt signed by everyone, with pictures, too. My kid thought of himself as King Shit. Why wouldn't I want to do that? How many times to we get to feel that? I have no heartburn about that. My poop was ok.

Work.

The ebb and flow of that. People always think that there work is the most important. It's hard for me to feel that, or take any of it that seriously. I try to make my yawning and lack of interest as masked as possible. Some days are better than others. After five, one of the ladies saw a tiny bit of a tatoo of mine sneaking out of the top of my shirt. She told me that she didn't know that I was that kind of person. I smiled. I'm not sure what kind of person she had thought I was before, or now, but I'm some kind of person. Yes. I guess my cover was blown. The next day the gossip train hit. What can one do? Not much. Well, the jig is up.

I am due to get my biggest tatoo endeveor colored this weekend. Standing in the elevator after five the next day, everyone asked what I was doing this weekend. I guess I got this look of panic on my face. Not panic exactly, just caught, without my work mask on. Shit, it was after five. It was a weird feeling for me. One smart German said that I didn't have to say, and he smiled. He made me smile, and smile big. Ok, fuck it. I told everyone that I was having some tatoo work done, then perhaps some gardening, and hanging with the family and a friend. German smiled. The others just looked at me in shock. Where are we? !!!?!#$!$. People world wide have tatoos. It's pretty popular now. No so much for natives in National Geo, gansters, and the Navy anymore. For real. We just didn't think that you were that kind of person.

We'll see how that works out on Monday.

I'm not sure if they're all feeling like somehow they let something into their sactuary. I'm not sure if they're going to be ok. There's others that have tatoos, in the office. I'm not sure what's so special or shocking about me. I could have done without the extra attention, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. I couldn't let the group get away with the egos, the gossip, the straight up meaness from the job. On the other hand, who appointed me Savior? Self-Appointed...then isn't that the ego of the self? Then I'm no better than the rest of them. The elevator could have crashed, and we wouldn't have been missed in world history, that's for sure. However, when we talked about nothing did a bomb go off in someone's hand somewhere else? Hard to call.

In the meantime, I went to sleep at six PM in the chair, as people of my kind often do. I didn't sleep well. I woke up to coffee and the worry of my shit being good enough.

I pray and smoke, and wait for that.

I logged on to see that it was January since my last post. Wow, months ago. I've been stuck in the bog.

It used to be that when I was bogged down, I just left. I left and went somewhere no one could find me. I would return with gifts and stories, but I when I was gone, I was really gone. Now having a family, a big machine job, I have responsibilities, duties, to make people aware that I am leaving and leave numbers for emergencies. Those things that bind us. They do take a toll on the art of disappearing. One has to admire the likes of Mr. Cooper. I'm not saying so much about the theft part....but he did manage to grab some money and completely disappear. We are still spending money on this unsolved case. You do have to say that's fucking brilliant.

I did just leave. I went to visit a friend in a State that was far away. I only had a weekend, but, whatever....something was better than nothing. I hung out with wonderful strange people, ate delicious food, drank....bought silly things. I breathed in air that was not my same air. I felt as though this precious foreign air would heal my soul, reforge my heart's forces, all of those things. And the secrets that I brought back with me of my experiences would just be mine, to share or not to share. That's what leaving does for me. Being in a place that doesn't know you allows you to choose your experiences; rather than, having situations presented or laid upon you that you have to have a reaction or some action taken. Jesus, I was in desperate need of leaving. I'm sure that you would love for me to tell you about Amanda, Dancing Bruce, or the surly grandson of a famous actress you owns a small shop who treated me like crap until I stood there and sold a ton of stuff for him just to get what I wanted out of another shopper's hands. Yes, everyone wants to hear those stories. But, not yet. I'm still sitting with them, in secret.

I came back.

I came back to what I've decided is just crap. Crap that I must make a plan to completely leave for good.

I think that I want to own a cafe or maybe an earthworm farm or maybe both. Earthworms do not talk, and boy would that be nice. A cafe would allow me to visit with people a short bit, but if I owned the cafe, I could just kick them out if I liked. I wouldn't have to serve or deal with anyone that I didn't care for. How nice would that be?!?

I have noticed that there are just about three kinds of people, just three. The first group does whatever they fucking feel like, to whoever they feel like, whenever they feel like. The second group does very little that they like; and more often than not, they try to impose their rules on the first group, or they try to impose so much of their rules on themselves that they crack and have secret first group lives. The third group cannot help, seriously cannot help doing things that the first and second group do, and the first two groups rarely make space for this group to live at all, this third group is the most tragic of all the groups.

Now, there is a smaller fourth group. This group can't even be called a group, there is no organization about it, these people do not form. They are by far the best that humanity has to offer, but are because they cannot form, they cannot rule they other three groups. The other three may be the distruction of humanity in it's complete existance, but because of this four gray area, those people will have taken full advantage of all that has been offered, created a wonderful, fantastic ride, before it's all said and done.

I broke out into hives this week. Not just once, three times. I itched, I was red, and then the tiny, raised red circles began to show all over. I tried to find the root cause of them, as I scratched and medicated myself. Nothing was different. I've only have hives two other times in my life, both were external causes. Causes that could easily be pointed to, and fixed. But, not this week. I finally realized that I was having hives from stress. Stress hives. I couldn't even believe that there was such a thing. There is. I was allergic to my life. Holy fucking shit. I had to pinpoint the stresser to get rid of the itchy situation. Ok, well, which fucking thing was making me itch? I have so many things, everyone has so many things, how can a person pick out the trigger point. I thought, What?!? Are you fucking kidding me?!?

I took some time to consider all of my angles. Was it the first group in me? Was it the second group in me? Was it the third group in me? Or was it the lack of the fourth group in me?

By Thursday, I was to the stress level that I just couldn't think about it. It has been work, work, work, what did you say? I can't think right now, I'm working. I have hives, and I can't think about it, I'm working. And then when I'm done working there's some more work and stuff to do. I know that I'm scratching my tits and ass, but not to worry the work will be done.

I've been secretly laying plans, longterm plans for the worms and the cafe. So, if I can just hang on, I can itch, what the fuck do I care, if in the end, I get worms and a cafe.

Thursday. Itchy and working. The young girl at work, very pretty. Everyone knows that she's the favorite. She's the favorite to the client of redneck men, and really many of the people in the office. She's can be very smart, and she is very pretty. The only problem, is she does know that she is protected and she gets and takes the free stuff. She's currently only a group one. At times, because this is her first real job, she lacks the experience with people. She doesn't know that as long as she stays right were she's at, everything will be good for her, but she's very locked in. Once she ventures out, the responses may not always be as welcoming. That's just the way it is.

We had a situation. One that me and my hives could have done without. Pretty Girl had a lot of work. But, truth be told we all did. Once she came back from lunch, she began to pawn some off on me. She didn't ask me, she just told me. She told me in a very not nice tone. I recognized that she really did feel like that was alright for her to do. It wasn't that big of a deal. Fuck it. I'd just do the work. And we could just set the boundry later, I was too busy. Just my luck that wasn't how it was to go.

I tried to point out that I would need more information from her to complete what she had so kindly given me. Very snidely, she asked if I need her to just do the work for me. This was loud, and mean, and rang over the cubicle bay. The white glove had been slapped. The pitch fork grabbed. I knew the towel was raised to see who would throw it in first. I sighed. Well, shit.

Oh, the surly girl. The demeaning tone. I wasn't that irritated with her, I just saw if for what it was. This was not my first rodeo. I knew that I would have to bite back. I would have to establish my cubicle bounderies. Seriously, I would have to basically pee on something to define my six square foot territory. I would have to beat my hivey chest to make the understanding known which highlighter was mine. That I had my computer chair set exactly where I liked it. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I wasn't annoyed, just tired. And I wanted to tell there that what she said was stupid. That I knew what was going to occurr from here, I knew how this was going to play out, and it was stupid, we had work to do.

But, one has to define themselves in the office. We really do a bunch of really stupid stuff. So, Okay, let's just take care of it already.

I explained to her that No, I did not need her to help me do her work. I said this as equally as loud, and with a more disturbing, but still professional, polite and courteous tone. I pee'd.

The whole area was very quite. One could have heard a paperclip drop.

I began to go back to work, now I had my work, and part of her work, I had no time to think any further on the matter. So, I found another avenue to gather the information that I needed to get from her, completed her stuff very quickly, and dispensed of the matter. And as I was printing her part to take to her, she came around the corner with the sticky note of information I had asked for. One sticky note. In the time it took her to write it down; I had finished. I knew this would also make a point.

And now, I would have to complete the lesson that I had begun to teach her. Shit.

She almost started to talk. I looked at her and explained the "in the time she took to gather the stickie note, I had completed her part of the work". So, thanks, but I found it, and if she wanted to stand at the printer, she could just take her work back to her cublicle with her. She looked stunned, and started to say something. I held up my hand, and told her to stop, I didn't need it, and was going back to my own work now. I turned around and walked off. Again, I wasn't angry, just proficient about it.

The cubicle bay was in recovery. It was quiet. It wasn't as though we had a full on brawl, just tow people not seeing eye to eye. I was just as happy to have the silence. I cleared off most of my work....very nice. I didn't think that it was that big of a deal. I know that I would eventually get annoyed though because it was going to continue to be a big deal for a bit. And that would lead to something that I would have to pay attention to, and maybe take away time from the work I had to actually work at.

Me and my hives got to work on Friday in a slightly drug induced hazed. Coffee only sliced a bit of the cloudy fog.

I was waiting. I had a sneeking suspicion that there would be fall out from the incident. Why? Because the girl is still wrapped up in her own, because she would just think that it was about her, this tiny thing, "the incident" wouldn't just pass, there would be further, annoying discussion. And we had stuff to do, that I equally cared less about, but at least that shit paid me. So, of the two, one could deduce where I wanted to spend my thought power.

We had a staff meeting.

We covered business stuff. Then the girl said to everyone that she had another issue that she would like to bring up. It was now an issue worthy of a discussion at a staff meeting. Girl said that she had gotten a bit snippy with me yesterday and she wanted to say that she was sorry. It was not about saying that she was sorry to me, if she really had gotten it, she would have come to me in private. I might have taken notice of that, sure, why not.

However, She was defending her good name by publicly saying something. She was announcing that it was about her. By saying this outloud, she would be able to show everyone how sensitive she was and how much she really cared. Please note that there was no mention of the extra work of her's that I did in record time, and how helpful that was, no mention. Oh Jesus. Please can I just have a break already.

I was also aware that these people thought that I had a direct line to the President of the Company. Pretty Girl thought that. So, upset me, and well, you might hear about it from the President Herself. Yes, indeed, you might just.

People thought that I had direct lines to a great many important people. And it's true, I do have that direct line. I have this direct line because these important people know that I would never use the red button line for something like this. NEVER PUSH THE RED BUTTON!!!! However, I noted that that's cool if people think that. How awesome it that?!? People would probably be apt to do less fucking stupid stuff in the long run. So, that was pretty cool. But, I would never bother anyone about this. I wasn't talking about it now, so no red button pushing later....

Aware that I was going to have to put on my public face quickly. I was going to have to have a response. I did. I'm not positive that I had it on quick enough, but, whatever. When I have hives you just get what I can give.

The boss said how nice that was of her to come forward and say outloud. Everyone was waiting, looking at me. Oh brother.....

I said, yes, that was very nice, thank you. And people were still staring at me. I just continued to sit there. Yes, I knew what was expected, what was supposed to happen next, and I wasn't trying to be an ass, I wasn't holding any great grudge; however, I knew we were still in Lessonville, and I knew better than to feed into the situation, or next time she would still be an office bully.

The boundry had to be set in final. I was not showing any signs of anger, there wasn't any, I was just setting the boundry. I think that in the stand off, I could actually feel the addition of several more hives. There itchy development, red, strong. The thought of stopping just for a few seconds to scratch. Oh the scratchingly relief. Shit.

The boss asked if I had been sassy back. What are we?, fucking little kids. I said matterafactly, that yep, I did. (Would anyone have expected less of me? Really, come-on. Everyone should be sassy back. And if they choose not to, well they will regret it later. Why do that to yourself? We're not at some big battle royal....we're in an office.)

Since there was no I'm sorry following that. I was asked why? Really, why? I was asked that.

Ok, ok, ok.

I said that when we all come to work, it's not just act however you want time, when we all come to work there are actual rules. I wished that I could just come to work and act and do as I please, but that wouldn't take into account everyone else's space. So, therefore, when people come to work and wear their Ugly Buttons, they shouldn't be surprised when someone else dawns theirs.

There was a situation here, right now, that I knew that we could only move through by hearing me say that I was sorry, too. Well, ok, than I'm sorry, too. Even though I was being funny, I shared with the girl my deadpan eyes. People laughed because I said the word Ugly Buttons, and we did move on, and the point was made to the girl where the line was. She backed down a bit; her body language told me so. I'm not sure that she had encounter someone like me. She couldn't use anything on me. I just didn't care to go down this path with her, and I wasn't threaten by anything she did. Even if she made it hard for me to work with her with others by pulling the pretty girl gossipy helplessness, I still wouldn't care. What to do, what to do. I was a good lesson for her. Really. I was just annoyed and itchy that we had to talk about this. I didn't want to be a lesson from someone. Can't you just lesson with someone else? I was annoyed that I had to make believe that it was something I was upset about and needed some sort of fixing. I couldn't pretend about it. It was just stupid.

I went to lunch. I had hives. I longed for another trip to somewhere no one knew me. I longed for the plan for worms and cafe customers. But, what I had where my vacation memories and hives. I lit a cigarette. I won't quite smoking. I know that every drag brings be closer to death, but every drag offers some break from the loudness of living. Who would want to give that up just because group two told you that you have to.

Sometimes, I feel like Piggy and have to run before people take my glasses and try to start small fires to warm their breakroom coffee. And we all know what happed to Piggy.

D.B. if only you could hear my prayers to be a good as you. It was only the parachute they found, dirty, old and nowhere near where you are right now.

Bring back the Flaming Beavers....A Quest for Action

I have resurrected an old habit.

My love for silly underwear. No, it's not the kind you can jackoff to later. (i.e. a man wearing a lacy red thong with an even racier, silkier read top, under his suit. Not like that.) Just silly underwear.

My favorite underwear was a pair of plain white cotton briefs that had red, orange and yellow flames around the top, with a crudely drawn beaver with a chainsaw in a big circle, at the crotch. I bought those at a fundraiser for a local radio station that needed money to survive. Eons before satellite radio. I do hate space junk radio. It freaks me out, and makes me think that I need a aluminum hat to protect myself, or something. Plus, I just don't like the idea that we're going to be seen by our space neighbors as the planet with our cars up on blocks in the front yard of weeds with all our satellites, etc. But, the underwear, the beaver, they were very special. When I put them on, the cotton always felt so clean and refreshing. Of course, we all know that cotton is so cottony absorbant; which is important when you're running and hopping fences, and important when your hot with lust and you know you shouldn't sleep with them, or aren't drunk enough to sleep with them, but you're still hot for and need to just go to the bathroom, wipe and get back to drinking your beer. Yes, our bodies place cruel messy tricks on us sometimes.

The beaver drawing, somehow made me feel like my body, my soul, my personal space was completely my own; that it was in lockdown, and if anyone neared me without permission, they would get the chainsaw. Ahhh, the chainsaw.

It was just very nice, at the grocery store, in the big giant lines. At the DMV, the big giant lines. At the frigging bar, just trying to get my drink on, the big giant lines. Or, the people fucking with me at work because they were bored, stupid, didn't have a life. But, simply no bother, I had the flamming beaver panties on. Safe, secure, tough.

Those underwear have bit the dust. I think that I still have them, but they are at the bottom of the underwear drawer, in a dark corner, by themselves, only to be seen in the awe of memories, so worn out with holes and stains to really don them. But, to fucking awesome to every throw away. Maybe to be found, once I'm dead, and someone would scratch their head in wonder, and never know they had just touched greatness.

I was also partial to a silver lame thong that I once had, when my ass was perky and smooth. Oh, how I loved to put those on, and do my hair and make-up, put on my silver velvet six inch heals, turn on some kickass music, make myself a drink, and clean the house. And no one, I mean no one was in the house for that. It wasn't about the sexiness of it, so put your hands where I can see them for the duration of this blog. It was about looking and feeling good while doing something that was boring and stupid, but simply had to be done. I would dance with the mop. I would sing with my drink in one hand. I would scrub with my cigarette in my mouth, and my rag in the other hand. It was so much fucking fun. It was awesome. I highly recommend it. Even for the guys. And if your a guy who doesn't wear heels, that's fine, just put on your going to church shoes, the really nice ones, with the fancy socks.

I can remember a time with the flaming beaver and my friend Chanda. She's very tall and has big boobs and long, flowing blond hair. She wasn't single, but I was. I drawfed in comparison to her beauty. Men would come to her with numbers in hand, weiners out, eyed glazed. It was costly going out with her if my intent was to get laid. I had to buy the guy I had my sights on, way more drinks to get him refocused on me; rather than her. Focus, I'm buying the drinks here....and if you're a good monkey, I'll buy you a drive dinner after I'm done with you. Focus!!!!

She's a looker for sure. And I love her. She's my friend. I could tell you all about her personality, but after the discription above; what's the point, you've already lost your focus, too. I'm sure.

Chanda and I would go out to the bar order drinks, and keep them coming. We would get twenty dollars worth of quarters, maybe each. We would position ourselves in front of this gun game, usually in some darkly lite corner with the smell of old spilled, rotten drinks and carpet/floor burns from cigarettes stamped out in a hurry. We would proceed to masacare aliens and get our drunk on. We would laugh, kill and drink. So good, so wholesome, so fun.

Ocassionly there would be some guy, with an attitude, who would try to show us up at the game by placing his two quarters on the plastic of the game consol, next to the start buttons, signaling that he would be next. Oh, two quarters? That's it? Do you not see the fucking fourty some odd dollars worth of silver next to us? The humongous pile of silvery promises that we're here to stay forever?!? And you come over here with two?!? You walk over here with that cocky attitude, slamming down hard, what?!?, TWO?!? What exactly do you think your two quarters are going to do?!? How far do you think your 1999 and 1776-1976 are going to get you?!? Are you fucking kidding us?!?!! Just look at our score, our empty shot glasses....do you not feel the flurry and fury of sweaty underwear, smeared lipgloss, and booze?!? And you walk over here with that?!?

We would always just look at eachother and laugh and laugh. With big grins on our faces, ok, one of us would step aside for the next round and let the poor sucker put in his two, tiny, dull quarters in the slots, and try to have a go. Okay, okay. He wouldn't make it very long. It was over once he heard the clink, clink of the machine taking in the money.

We were never sure if the guys who tried and failed were really just that bad, or if it was the silly, violent, loud female energy that just overpowered them and sent them packing. We're not your sister. We're not your mother. We're not your ex-wife or ex-girlfriend. We're not here to fuck you. We're not even here to hear you fucking name said by anyone. We're not your fucking friend. We are here to kick ass...be it alien or man....just here to kick some ass.

They would always leave with their pee-pee tucked between their legs. Nope not sure if they were really that bad, or the girls just sent them packing. Hard to make that call, we were never sober enough for that. And didn't really care. Just bra wearing, video game junkies out for the thrill of the hunt. For hours we would commandeer that game murdering the evil species and drinking deliciously intoxicating drinks.

I could try to redraw the design on a new pair, or spend a ton of money getting a shiny new one; though, but it wouldn't be the same. One has to seek new pairs, and retire the old ones once their service of duty has been completed. That's just how it is. You cannot reclaim the feeling of memories or a time past. We all know what a person going through a mid-life crisis looks like....I shudder at the foolishness of it. Eek, Yuck, Icky. Yes, one just has to find new ones.

I did find one new pair. They are cotton briefs, and their very loud hot pink and royal purple strips, with silver lame lettering on them. I wore them. The feeling on just having them on and if I needed their super powers, I could just run to the bathroom and stand in the stall with my pants down for an extra moment. I have taken great comfort in them, their cottony comfort absorbing all the bad. Everyone noticed my new look, my new confidence....some even commented, asked what I had been doing. I didn't tell them about my secret weapon underwear. It would be highly inappropriate and totally ruin my underwear high. It is secret underwear after all.

I'm not quite ready to clean my house in them. Not quite ready to go out and drink in them. I have to create new meaning for my new underwear. I am sure that whatever it is, it's going to be simply fantastic. I may even tell soemone about, minus the fact that I was wearing my super strength fun britches.

Yes. It's a new dawn and it smells like fresh new cotton briefs.

I wish THEY would come here and see me.

This may be a short transmission. I'm not even dressed for work yet. Seriously.

I've been seriously detoxing. The new diet that I've been on, well, it's not a diet at all. It's just eating the foods that I should be eating anyway. Man oh man, does it make me shit. And I have begun to shit on time, every time, on time. I have a friend that really monitors her colon activities, and when I tell her about this, she's going to be so happy for me. My energy is starting to be up, and my mood swings are starting to be down. Maybe it's this time for real. Hard to say. I'm not very good with any kind of follow through. Frankly, that maybe one of my charms. As least, I find it charming. Not so much for other people. But, I feel better, so whatever.

In the office this week, I screwed up on my timesheet. In an email to office headquarters, which is located in some topsecret state, maybe run by robots, I did confess to that screw up. I confessed to it all. And even asked for help in fixing it. I received notice back in the form of an email (which I totally wish has music or at least the Whah, whah whah whah song), repeating to me, the exact way that I screwed up (which I had already confessed to), and that this indiscretion would be let go, THIS TIME, but, THEY frowned upon this kind of action.

THEY. I had heard that word quite a bit lately. THEY. I don't even know who THEY are. So, I'm note sure why I would need to care so much that THEY are frowning at me about anything. I don't see THEY. I don't talk to THEY. I'm not even sure that THEY know who I am, or where I am. (or do THEY?) I'm note even sure that THEY are human. Maybe THEY are robots. Or, maybe THEY are monkeys, or hippos. Or, maybe it's just one guy named THEY. I just don't know.

However, it should be noted that THEY are obviously very important. And THEY can frown upon us all for everything. THEY frowned upon me. I was maybe a bit sad that I had made anyone unhappy enough to frown. I'm sorry THEY. I'm very sorry.

I've decided to make it up to THEY. And hold THEY in my dearest of dearest spots in my daily activities at the office. If I do not like the way some work has turned out, I plainly state that I do not think THEY would be very proud of us. Or, if someone has a bad attitude towards another, I remind that person that THEY would not think that was a way to work with others. Even if I just don't like the office coffee, I state that THEY wouldn't like this at all.

I have become a champion of THEY. And perhaps they will bestow on me many blessings in the next year. I honor you, THEY. Yes, I honor you, THEY. Since I do not have a picture of THEY to set us an office shrine to THEY, I have had to make do with a fancy stapler and some hole-punch confetti, and a necklace made of paperclips. I cannot light incense or candles at my alter to THEY, so I substitute with a pleasant, spray odor remover instead. (Not anything that really smells that might upset another office member. Most certainly not. THEY would not like that one bit. THEY do have rules, of which I can review on the confusingly laid out online intranet or my handy, bulky, hard to decipher employee manual that I was given at the beginning, which I think I've lost a few pages in the back of my car.)

Once when I said THEY to another worker, the worker asked me who THEY were. I was shocked. Then, I stated that if she was supposed to know who THEY were, then THEY would have told her. I felt like I had said to much already, and made my escape to another task, like filing....very busy. I realized that she really may not even know the secret of THEY at all. Even though I screwed up on my timesheet, I realized that this had made me a little special. I had been allowed to even know of the existence of THEY. Oh, the breath escaped me, and I hurried to my shrine to don my paperclip necklace and give thanks and prayers. Oh THEY, thank you THEY, praise THEY, Amen.

This has been a clip from my daily inner monologue to myself that helps me make it through the nonsense of the corporate world.

This is my horoscope from Rob Brezney's site www.realastrolgy.com for the week of January 3, 2008.

In my dream, I was addressing a crowd of Sagittarians in a festively decorated hall. It was the first week of 2008. "You are not yet ready for the wonderful things you think you want," I told them. "To actually get them, you will have to change yourself in the coming months; you will have to shed some old conditioning that is interfering with your quest for success. Do you know what that old conditioning is? Find out NOW! Figure out how you need to transform yourself in order for the world to give you what you yearn for."

I think he's hit the nail on the head. If I am going to reach success in my life, I am going to have to shed quite a bit of nonsense that has been ingrained in me. Prime example, determining my security level at a job where I am threatened by THEY. Yep, all the silliness that we instill in ourselves. Yep, has to go. I have to poop.

End Transmission.