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.
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