I do the same things every day because routine makes me safe, well, not the same things and not every day, and nothing makes you safe, and the win is supremely unsatisfying. We were all told this was good and that a healthy sense of dissatisfaction was well, healthy. A discontented sense of self was how you stayed ambitions. Anyone happy with what they had was stagnating. More importantly, anyone who didn’t want more was cheating the system. I personally, hate people who don’t want to change, except for me. There was an idiot in a class I took once who claimed that people never changed. Saying this made her proud. Listening to that nonsense made me want to deck her. Can we have a day when I can hit everyone who annoys me? Of course people are constantly changing, but evolution offends us because we don’t want to make any adjustments if we can help it. I have all the pieces arranged on the table exactly the way I want, just walk way. Leave the toothpaste, my coffee cup, my special yogurt, and my plastic Groot repli
ca exactly where I left it goddammit. We want to recognize the person we see in the mirror. It is damned disorienting seeing unfamiliar faces stare back at us while we’re flossing (you damn well better be), but it happens. But, the fact that the woman the rest of you sees when you look at me, angles and reflections and such, is not the same one I see keeps me from getting deep sleep. So my face in the mirror is a backwards view of what everyone else sees. Great. Does that zit on my cheek look bigger when it’s on the other side of my face, because that really will wig me out.
I’m too tired to write, but it’s been too long. I needed the bathroom yesterday. Oh yes, I am turning into my grandmother. Apples and I, we have an uneasy alliance. I was driving to work and I was not going to make it. So figuring that McDonald’s would be less fascistic about non-customer bathroom use, I chose it over IHop. The first door was locked. I threw my body against it to be sure, which freaked the people inside eating breakfast. Four people grasping McMuffins froze until I accepted the fact of the locked door and moved on. Then I found an open door, and although the staff had locked in on by then me as a possible subversive, I buzzed by and ran into the bathroom where a woman roughly the size of Steven King, dressed in a grey clown suit with a greying fro squatted over a toilet seat. She hadn’t felt like closing the door. I was in a hurry. I could judge her later. I used to toilet, and then stepped to the sink intending to wash my hands, but saw that the faucet handles were goopy and was afraid to touch them and anyway, the woman, now standing at the paper dispenser, had dropped her pants and was scrubbing her pussy with handfuls of paper towels. I thought I should just go.
Comments