And now, back by popular demand, my butthole.
Because it’s itchy.
And it’s itchy right down deep, too. This ain’t no peri-anal itching. This is itching down where only miners and proctologists can find it.
And it’s very annoying.
At least I am wise and experienced enough to know that you don’t just scratch an itch every time it itches and for as long as it itches.
That only makes things worse in the long term. It turns a simple itch into one that is swollen, red, and bleeding, and now you’re in a heap of trouble.
It can even lead to infection, if you take it far enough. Show how stupid our bodies are, urging us to do things that will hurt it.
So I am avoiding scratching it as much as possible. Luckily, the itch is mild enough so that as long as I am mentally and physically occupied, such as when I am using Mister Computer here, I don’t notice it at all.
But it still worries me. It’s persisted over two days and several defecations, so I fear that it is here to stay until I do something about it.
And that means a trip to Doctor Chao. One where I have to spread my cheeks and show him my boom boom place.
Which could turn out to be quite interesting if my theory that he is attracted to me turns out to be true.
But either way, it’s not something I am eager to do. But I know better than to just keep ignoring it until it really bites me on the ass.
So to speak.
The new monitor remains in its box.
I know I sad yesterday that even if I hadn’t finished cleaning by now, it was coming out of its box and getting installed anyhow, but that was hopelessly shortsighted of me.
I should have known that I am not capable of leaving a task half finished. And right now, I am have completed most of the “clearing off” phase but I still have the much trickier “cleaning up” phase to do.
“Clearing off” was and is a lot of work but it’s simple work. Just methodically pick up all the layers of accumulated detritus on the desk and file it under “keep”, “garbage”, “organic matter”, or “paper”.
Things were so much simpler when we didn’t have to sort our trash. I miss that.
Not that I want it back. Just pining for a simpler and more innocent time.
“Cleaning up” means taking everything except maybe my computer itself OFF the desk and then giving the thing some kind of deep scrubbing.
Not sure how that will work, exactly. I am hoping Joe has some ideas. The amount of weirdly homogenized gunk that was on this desk was astonishing.
And, of course, disgusting.
But there’s no way I can consider this desk clean until the scrubbing taking place because even after scraping most of the gunk off with my fingernails, there is still a fingernail proof layer of residues to deal with.
So I am thinking the monitor will debut tomorrow.
But after that, whoa boy…. watch the fuck out.
More after the break.
A victim of productivity
I’ve been seeing things in the world of Internet opinion talking about how, in modern society, we define ourselves in terms of how “productive” we can be and how, even if we are only being productive towards our own personal goals, how this productivity based mindset is fundamentally rooted in how useful we can be to the corporations and billionaires who own us.
I would argue that even without our oligarchic overlords, human beings have a fundamental drive to contribute to whatever collective they happen to be a part of, and that is the drive our modern day plantation owners pervert to exploit us.
But the fundamental truth of the principle rings true. We are raised to define ourselves by how productive we are and that is a particularly cruel things for us disabled folk.
Because we can’t be productive by the modern capitalist definition. I can’t work. I am, therefore, by society’s definition, worthless.
This definition of worth is a big part of the deep seated guilt I feel about my life and my situation and how everything has turned out.
I have spent my whole life feeling crushing guilt about the fact that I can’t stand on my own two feet and need to impose on others just to stay alive.
I can’t earn. This is killing me.
It’s why despite having a full suite of highly effective counter-arguments to inoculate me against this very line of reasoning, I still feel like an intolerable and intractable burden to everyone and that combination of guilt with an inability to do anything to fix the situation is the kind of thing that leads to the bad thoughts about the world being better off without me and so forth and so on.
These are the thoughts that could kill me. And they are rooted in this misplaced and misdirected instinct to contribute to the collective.
And as of this moment, I have no idea how to forgive myself for this lack of contribution This guilt reaches all the way back to way before I was of working age. My whole life I was both denied the opportunity to learn to be self-sufficient (people were too impatient to teach me) and made to feel guilty for “making” others have to look after me.
Fundamentally, they made me feel guilty just for being alive.
I’m not even supposed to be here.
And I know in my head how wrong that was and that there is no reason I do not deserve to be here and that I was brutally abused by the people I love the most throughout my childhood when they treated me like an unwelcome interloper.
But the change has yet to fully reach my heart. I still have a lot of the bad stuff from my childhood circulating in my bloodstream like heavy metal poisoning and it will take a while for my deep consciousness to work out how to get rid of it.
Being able to write about it here helps a lot. You lovely people who read me make it possible for me to work through my emotions and thus release them, and for that I am infinitely grateful to you all.
I love you all. Thank you for making this all possible. And as always…
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.