Peripatetic, Writer, Harbinger of Mirth
Keychain,
Tiny desire for identity
In a cookie-cutter world.
But this one’s “so you,”
Just like thousands
Have thought before.
Original–truly novel–
Frightens the close-minded…
And we’re all close-minded.
So we stick to
The same safe deviance
As everyone else.
But it brings you joy.
What more do you seek?
What more is there?
It’s only two dollars.
Just buy it already.
Starting at puberty, it becomes socially unacceptable to exchange touch with anyone but romantic partners. This is bad. Touch is calming. It’s connecting. It’s fundamental to proper growth and development. Touch should happen more.
On a road trip with a friend, I hadn’t touched another person in a week. That’s a long fucking time. A week without touch is a cruel punishment that I wouldn’t subject on any animal. It’s not even a sexual thing – I just wanted physical contact. I asked if I could lie on my buddy’s lap. He said sure, so I did. Our conversation continued. I felt human. It was great.
Why does our society suppress touch? I understand the moratorium across gender and the requirements that touch be consensual. But why is it weird (or labeled “gay”) for guys hanging out to touch each other? We’re primates. Primates touch. Even gorillas – the biggest and strongest among us – pick nits out of each other’s fur.
I’m not sure why, but I don’t like it. I also can’t see a good reason against it, so I’m going to touch more.
At 9:11am, the morning’s not-funniest time, I slipped 50mg of caffeine past the tape on my mouth before crawling back into the safety of my dreams. Another hour-and-a-quarter passed before my bunkmate awoke, only after which did I first leave my bed. How much of this time was spent avoiding the world?
I’m coming off a cold. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been sleeping so much. I’ve also been emotionally exhausted, overcoming a childhood trauma and rebuilding after a breakup.
My bed is warm. My bed feels safe. In it, the world feels far away. My mind moseys, wisting aimlessly from place to place. I like that safety. I like that oblivion. I live for that vacuum between conscious and gone.
I struggled through five doctors over ten years before one correctly diagnosed me with obstructive sleep apnea.
It’s subjectively difficult to tell if something’s wrong with you because corroboration requires a doctor’s agreement. If they don’t see a problem, perhaps nothing’s wrong. Then again, perhaps they’re incompetent, or perhaps you didn’t communicate it clearly. Most doctors see a lot of patients, and communicating a subjective experience to a second party is very difficult. And even if you can’t get second-party confirmation, it’s still really your experience.
I pee frequently. Frequently enough that my friends comment on it. This causes me concern. I don’t know that there’s a problem, but I suspect something’s up. I could see a urologist, but that’s a minimum of two visits at inconvenient times to someone who I’ll probably conclude is incompetent.
Some doctors are great. Most are god-awful. It’s hard to know before seeing them. I’m delaying, which isn’t the logical choice, but it’s easier than calling medical offices. I’m solving my sleep now—one issue at a time. I hope I don’t come to regret waiting.
I h’ain’t been takin’ great care o’ myself.
I been a tired grump, drained sumthin awful.
I wanna finish mah work so i c’n relax
’n’ then begins th’ vay-kay-shun.
(Context: I haven’t eaten food in the last 72 hours.)
Fasting isn’t difficult, but it is trying:
After five years of wanting, I played my first D&D game today. Upon creating my character—Pimbleton the Great and Powerful and Mighty and Strong, a three-foot-tall gnome who rode into the world on a lightning bolt thrown by Zeus and spent twenty years enslaved by a cereal company who forced him to be their mascot before rising to monarch of a race of undersea people—I was asked what his “alignment” is. This refers to a 3×3 grid, with axes of “Lawful vs Chaotic?” and “Good vs Evil?”
I disliked this question. It feels wrong-directional. We can describe an action as one of these, but they don’t describe the whole person.
Actions should come from who someone is, not the easiest way to classify them. There’s no such thing as acting “out of alignment.” There’s only acting in character or not.
I intentionally don’t have a best friend. I don’t like the categorization. Or perhaps I have a best friend and just don’t know it:
When I think the phrase “best friend”, I feel repulsed. Not from my friends, but from the concept.
So I don’t have a best friend. Not since fifth or sixth grade, when I had a best friend with whom I fought constantly. Or maybe seventh or eighth grade, when I had a best friend with whom I fought constantly. I vividly recall making my seventh grade “best friend” cry.
Since then, my life has been more of an ensemble cast. I have friends who I love. I don’t make them cry. That’s enough.
A friend challenged me to write the last sentence of the defining novel of the 21st century. After much research, discussion, and consideration, I composed the following:
To think we thought change wouldn’t change change.
Perhaps I’ll write the rest someday.
What do I do when I don’t want to write?
I write about how I’m annoyed.
Dozens of writings begin with the phrase,
“I don’t want to write today.”
After a while it evolves into poem
Or into emotional quandary.
The process can feel like picking a scab
Or bleaching ratty laundry.
Sometimes I only know five minutes in
That my first few beginnings were flounders
Eventually arriving at the place in my mind
Where seconds are minutes are hours.
Time stands still and speeds along
As I’m lost in expressing myself.
I nibble at feelings, explore one of my sides
Before putting it back on the shelf.
Most of the time I write end-of-day;
It typically feels like a chore.
Why do I do it? Why write every day?
Because that’s what a writer is for.
A stabilizing force, it keeps me sane,
Reminding me life has no breaks.
Even if just one sentence: “I don’t wish to write,”
I write for writing’s sake.
Julian Wise 