Saturday, April 14, 2007

Some People Cut It and Some People Scratch

I was in the bathroom the other day and came to an odd predicament. I'm aware this is not the best way to start out, but if you've read this before you know I tend to talk about my adventures in the bathroom (that would probably have made a batter name for the whole blog in a lot of ways) and if you're back for more, then you have no one to blame, but yourself. So, I go into the bathroom because I have to poop up a storm. I had eaten four burritos in the past two days so I was ready to go in every sense of the phrase. I open the door and go to the stall closest to me. No dice, there is toilet paper hanging on the seat. Not the actual black plastic itself, but front and center, top part of the "U" where the plastic decides to take a break and it's pure porcelain. The next stall's door is locked shut, but doing a quick foot check reveals that some hooligan has decided to be clever. Since this probably involved standing on the commode, I make a mental note to never use that stall again. I'm left with one option: the handicapped stall.

I usually don't like to use the handicapped stall. It has nothing to do with some moral sense that I may impeding some guy in a chair's ability to get his shit on, I just don't like the feel of them. I like to have my feet planted when I poop, and the handicapped toilets are just a little to tall for this purpose, but I'm out of options at this point. I sit down, do my business and reach for some toilet paper. At his moment I realize that, unlike most stalls, this one has toilet paper dispensers on both sides of the stall. Aside from being officially crazy talk, I started to wonder about how somebody chooses. They were the same distance apart, so there wasn't an advantage to going to one or the other, but I went for the one to my right. Is this because I saw it first or do I have an innate tendency to check my right first? I'm not really sure. I'd like to see some data on which way people turn to wipe their butts. I demand this research be undertaken.


Monday, April 09, 2007

You Are No Longer Welcome in My Country

I have begun to worry about becoming too insular. Insular isn't even really the right word for it, but it's close enough. It's an odd fear, one I'm not really sure I should even have, but it exists nonetheless. Of late, I've felt more cut off from a lot of people and things. My life is feels like a giant ocean and I'm floating in it instead of swimming across it; waves move me about and I have to dodge floating chunks of shit, but I mostly remain as static as possible to avoid sinking.

Mmm... Unoriginal metaphors.

I tend to look forward to my bike rides these days because it gives me the most time to think. I look forward to things, but I feel the most stable and secure when I'm by myself or with a few other people. I've always had a bit of an introvert streak, but I don't think it's ever been this bad. I hate it. I used to be all about hanging out with a bunch of friends and I used to be way more proactive in getting things done. I'm pretty sure the fear this generates is due to the absolute weirdness of it all, but I also think it's an good old fashioned fear of dying. I've always seen getting more isolated as a sign of getting old.

Let me break TK1's Theory of Old Folks down for you. As folks get older, their circle of friends narrows and they become more inclined to work with the status quo. This happens for a variety of reasons, and, "status quo," is relative to the individual. As I seem to be following this pattern, my tiny lizard brain conclusion (yeah, tiny lizard brain be all philosophizing and shit, screw you) is that the end is coming.

That's much more depressing typed out than it was in my head.

What I am choosing to believe is that I'm just a little burned out. This seems to happen every spring and is just extra bad this year because I'm doing so much more. I'm not crazy just because I get depressed in spring and happy in the fall/winter, right?