You know what I was thinking? Of course you don’t. That would be ridiculous. I’d know if you were reading my mind, anyway, so don’t try anything funny. I’ve been thinking about way too much stuff lately, and I can’t have people mis-reading things. So here’s the scoop on what I’ve been thinking about during my recovery.
One thing I thought – and laughed – about, often, is celebrities. Sometimes I’ll be reading a magazine, and it’ll say in big letters: “Kim and Kanye go to BlahBlahFuck Island for the holidays” and underneath it’ll have a picture of them on a yacht or on the beach, and there’s the little inset picture that sits at the foot of that picture, and it shows them at the hotel pool, relaxing and being waited on. Sounds great, right?
But what is the fucking point?
That’s what I’d like to know. You’re just soooo tired of your gorgeous house that’s loaded with amenities, and servants, and a nice pool, and a bar, and private beach access… so you go to a gorgeous beach house that’s loaded with amenities, and servants, and a nice pool, and a bar, and private beach access. How is that a vacation, you rich asshole? Some joker is going to pay $2.99 to read about your fake-cation, on their unpaid lunch break at their menial job, or in the waiting room at a shitty dentist somewhere. But please, by all means, get away from your tired life for awhile.
That would be like if I rented a shitty apartment in the poor section of some small cold town in northern Europe, and my car stranded me in the middle of nowhere, miles from where anyone can hear me scream. But how can you scream anyway, when you’ve been starving for days, because the local cuisine consists of cabbage, and meat that is much too dark for your liking?? It’s not a vacation. It’s simply existing somewhere else.
I read this “Shower Thoughts” entry online (jah help me, for passing this shit along) and it said, “Have you ever gone along with last minute plans, and it turned out to be one of the greatest times of your life?” Which, no, but also, just about everything I do is a last minute plan. Even the planned stuff… cancelled at the last minute. I shake things up. Especially if it’s something that requires me to shower. I have to shower in order to motivate, and if I have to motivate in order to hang out with you, you’re asking a lot. I need to be easy, not scheduled. I don’t want to be your tense friend.
Matt tells me, “I hate showering before work, because showers make me want to relax.” I can see where he was going with that, because I also tend to become relaxed after a long steam, and that’s where last minute cancellations become real. They’re born in the fog of the shower, and mature in the coziness of the bathrobe. Sure, things start out promising, but they take a turn for the less-promising once the showering process begins.
Specifically, if I decide to look down at the drain, and I see there’s some hair on it. I have rather thick hair, and it tends to grow very quickly, and falls out just as fast. And that’s just me. When I say there’s always hair in the drain, it’s an understatement. And when it comes to pulling hair out of the drain, there’s a severely limited number of options you’re presented with, when considering a proper place of disposition for the drain hair.
I’d like to pause, and say that I know of at least one person out there, who is obsessed with shower drain hair, because I saw the guy on one of those Strange Addiction shows, so I hope that if he’s reading this, I hope he isn’t.
Option One: this option consists of a quickie little ineffective tip-toe-run-of-weirdness across the bathroom, to drop the hair spider (that’s what I call them) into the garbage or toilet. This exercise in futility is generally employed “before you get too wet,” which, let’s be honest, isn’t a real thing. The floor is going to be wet. It’s worse than option two.
Option Two: this option is technically split into two categories of its own (Temporary, and Started As Temporary) and can only be distinguished by how long you can live with the choices you’ve made. This temporary solution is meant to be just that: a brief fix until it becomes more feasible to throw the hair away. You swipe the hair out of the drain, and *ka-pow* you fling it at the wall, or in the corner, where the water stream won’t reach it. You let it sit there until you’re done showering, or if you’re smart, you wait until the hair dries on the wall of the shower, and you grab it and throw it away. Or if you’re dumb like me, you let the hair dry on the wall of the shower, and then never do anything about it, and then it falls back into the shower, only to be washed into the drain by the water, and that’s why it’s called Started As Temporary.
I pulled the hair spider out, and Started As Temporary. But then I had this slime on my hand, where I had touched the drain, and I’m sure it could be shampoo or soap, but I know that 50% of my house’s population is of the male gender, and I’m not taking any chances with hair in the drain of the shower. So I rinse my hand under the shower water. That should be okay, right? It’ll be super clean once I shampoo my hair.
Or will I be rubbing the drain slime into my hair, massaging it deeper into the strands as I lather, rinse, and possibly repeat?
Well, if you think about it, my hair is going to end up in there anyway, right? No big deal, could be worse. Someone once told me that a co-worker of hers got a moldy infection on her scalp, because she always put her hair up in a bun without drying it first, and that’s something I have done my whole life. I don’t want to dry my hair. It’s enough that I even do anything with it at all. When I get out of the shower, I’m good for sitting around, for about 45 minutes to 2 hours… right about the time it takes for a towel to officially become an outfit. It’s coincidentally the same amount of time it takes my hair to dry in the weirdest position possible. I can’t have that happening.
But I also can’t deal with the whole blow-drying/ flat-ironing thing either. I mean, props to those women who put in the conditioner, then the leave-in treatment, then the vitamin oil, and then torch it with an iron. They’re taking their hair into their own hands. I couldn’t think of any other way to word that, but I’ll bet there are some pretty literal instances of that happening.
Another thing I’ve been thinking about, is the fact that my birthday just went by, and it was my first one since quitting the ‘book. I figured it would be interesting to see how people handled it. Even more interesting, it turned out, was how I handled it. For over a decade of my life, I was personally celebrated by those near and far, whenever my birthday came around. The people I went to high school with, those I have worked with in the past, friends who are exes of my siblings, and family I don’t get to visit often, were all given the chance to tell me how awesome I am, and how happy they were that I was born, and that they hope this next year is kickass in every sense, and that it’s one of the most important dates in history because it’s the day I was bestowed upon you all. It’s nice to feel like your existence has somehow made people happy, even if for a day, and facebook helps facilitate those good feelings.
When you’re not on facebook, there is no birthday reminder. People don’t know it’s your birthday, because the robot isn’t telling them, and the robot isn’t telling them, because the robot doesn’t know, because you (or, in this instance I) didn’t want to interact with the robot. To the robot, I don’t exist. But, to the family and friends, I think I still very much physically exist. Before I decided interacting with the robot was an exercise in futility, I told them how they could reach me, without the assistance of the robot. Imagine my surprise, when practically nobody wished me a happy birthday this year.
Clearly I wasn’t worth remembering.
I’m sure there is a host of other reasons why practically nobody remembered that I exist, but that’s the reason I default to, because nobody remembered, except for the members of my family and friends who barely interacted with me through the robot to begin with. I noticed a lot of my family didn’t say anything at all, despite their timely birthday wishes of the past decade. Did they only care about me when the robot told them to? Ten times of repeatedly doing something always at the same time, sounds like enough conditioning to be able to do it on your own… eventually? Well we don’t have to do that anymore, because the robot is here! And if the robot doesn’t know about it, you don’t need to know about it either. Save your dwindling fucking brain power. You might need it for a buzzfeed quiz.
The thing that is sadly ironic about social media, is that it’s your fault if you miss something, due to not having facebook. Say your brother gets engaged, and receives 180 “likes” on the post, and everyone says congratulations and posts emojis and shit to show how happy they are, but you didn’t see it, because you don’t have facebook. A month or so goes by, and you hear about it from a family member or a friend, and you say “Heyyyy! Why am I just now finding out about this?” It’s your fault. You should have been on facebook. A phone call, letter, or text isn’t applicable anymore, so if you’re waiting for someone to share their important news with you specifically, you’re just being selfish. They’ve already made a post about it, which is the new age equivalent of yelling through a megaphone, which people used to make a concerted effort to gather around.
I had surgery twice during “the holidays” 2018, and even though it was just a small area of my body, it affected so much of my life. I think about everything I do, everything I eat, every movement my body makes, the position I sleep in, the time I spend sitting down, it’s all part of my obsession with prevention. The days of prevention are here, people. You could say I think too much about the worst case scenario, but I see it more as priming for future possibilities. How will you know what to do when some weird-ass drives up onto the sidewalk, unless you’ve envisioned it in your mind 267 times? Will you know where is a safe place to jump to? Will you be able to defuse the situation somehow? I would, because I’m planning my escape route everywhere I go, even safe places. Maybe that specific example doesn’t work for you. It’s morbid, but that’s the point: rarely are we afforded the luxury of being surprised by wonderful things. Take it from me, for I am a master at predicting tragedy, and have not yet been able to manifest the whole “I’ve got a golden ticket” thing.
This is already nearing 2000 words, and I’ve barely said anything. I’m hoping to be able to write more in 2019, and get back on the cycle of posting things that are interesting. It’s sad to know that you possess a talent you are unable to use, and embarrassing to publish something you’re not proud of. While I’m not proud of the quality of this content, I’m proud of myself for finally finishing one of the 4 posts I’d started. I’ve always lived with the mantra of “Stop starting, and start finishing” because I’m terrible with follow-through, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts. But the hope is very much alive, that I will continue this stream of consciousness that I call my blog. Thanks for sticking around. Don’t forget to tell your friends. About the blog, not about you sticking around. Nobody cares about that.