Haven’t poked this wasp’s nest in a while, so let’s.
When last we left our brave psychonauts psyche…. explorers, we were discussing how when I imagine my room and my bed all nice and clean and tucked away, a very strange and creepy feeling starts welling up inside of me.
It feels like something is going to come out of me that I want to keep in. You can fill in your own disgusting biological metaphor. The specifics don’t matter, what matters is that I have no conscious idea what this something could be.
And that intrigues me. What could it possibly be?
I know there is definitely a strong sense of shame attached, as if having this something come out in front of others would be akin to soiling oneself in public, only worse.
And yet I feel like it has nothing to do with the things I normally think of as my secrets.
And I have some pretty big secrets.
But this feels more like something deeper and more primitive, like something that might in fact reach all the way back to my toddler days.
Which just makes it all the more mysterious and intriguing.
And the fact that it is apparently the throngs of random items cluttering up my environment that are holding this something back is also fascinating.
Like the real world clutter clogs and confuses and possibly overloads some key part of my brain involved in keeping this something suppressed.
Like my mind fog, but more concrete and specific.
It makes me want to see what would happen if I spent a couple of hours in a empty, unfurnished room with white walls, floor, and ceiling.
Kind of like a much less intense and moist version of a sensory deprivation chamber, done with the knowledge that you don’t have to cease all input to the senses you merely have to give them no stimulation, just the same inputs continuously, and your nervous system will tune that shit out on its own.
In a white blank room like that, there would be no chance that my something could stay suppressed and it would have to come out of me on some level and let me get a good look at it so I can figure out what the fuck it is.
It could be just a big ball of undigested shame, terror, horror, and pain from when I was raped when I was a tiny child.
I mean, the timeline is right and it would make a lot of sense. That massive trauma has been lurking untreated and infectious in my psyche for 45+ years, it would make sense for me to have been reflexively choking back its toxic byproducts for all this time.
Which kind of implies that it’s time I horked all that bad stuff up, dunnit?
I know my system would fight me on that. I’ve been holding this stuff in for so long now that it is second nature and controlled by a part of me that has been around a lot longer than any sense of rational restraint or enlightened self-interest.
But I bet I would feel kinda hollow without it.
Something for me to ponder further.
More after the break.
Some signs tell a story
Like this one :
Listen up, pal, this big gay trucker orgy is happening whether you want it to or not, at least in my imagination.
Do you really want to piss off a bunch of surly gay Teamsters?
Can you believe this is supposedly a children’s book?
Yes, the illustrations are far from explicit and we never seen the bum’s “mouth”.
I don’t care. If someone gives your child this book, do NOT let them babysit!
Not unless you run an EXTREMELY liberal household.
Like, illegally so.
The other end if the day
And now that the sun has gone down, I am super sleepy again.
Of course, part of that is probably the crash after consuming Diet Coke with my McD’s meal this evening.
I swear, one of these days I am going to pull the trigger on that idea of getting a six pack of cans of regular Diet Coke and using them to help me stay awake for an entire day.
The idea being that when I finally go to bed, I might actually sleep for long enough to get some of those deep REMs I am missing.
Then again, that might lead to me waking up in a deathlike state like other times when I have slept and dreamt really hard.
Well then fuck that. The last time damned near killed me. Or at least it felt like it.
That’s also why I don’t take sleeping pills any more. Too big a chance that they will make my sleep apnea worse and I will wake up with a completely fried brain and dehydration from all the sweating and barely functioning at a goldfish level.
It might be possible for me to get better sleep. But not like that.
Never like that. Never again.
Oh, one bit of news : I screwed up this morning.
I knew I felt too stick to go into Wound Care. And I totally planned on calling them at 8:45 am, when they open, to tell them this.
But then I got really deep into chatting with my fuzzy friends, and lost track of time, and forgot all about it it until the phone rang and I went, “D’oh!”.
I apologized profusely to the nurse I was supposed to be seeing. I think he was just relieved that I answered and was not dead.
I feel pretty bad about it. Being absentminded is one thing when the only person it is harming is me, but when it causes me to commit an error of manners and consideration like that, I feel terrible.
Oh well. It’s in the past now. Nothing I can do but do better.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.