I ain’t cute. I drink out of a toilet mug, and the other pets in my wife’s house drink from an actual toilet.
Why are we all so hung up on the toilet?, Blowing up the question, what is it with out obsession with the entire water closet? It’s like we like water. Water, as you know, makes up 2/3 of our bodies and 2/3 of the earth itself so nature answers my dumb questions this morning. I don’t know what it expects from me anyway-it’s early, I am wearing a button down shirt and thermal underwear while I write.
But anyway, aside from the kitchen, the toilet is the room Everyone Wants To Be In. A room so small you could enshrine yourself and your family in it and say it was a mausoleum. Some of us get reading done in there, even. I do occasionally. I was one of those kids who read the shampoo bottles while I sat. I learned a lot of chemical names, like “laureth sulfate” or “cocamide” or some bullshit with the # symbol defining what batch of dye it was.
Lately, as a good manic depressive, I read my drug facts, but I don’t take them to the toilet, mind you. I’m on Depakote, Zyprexa, and, naturally, Ativan because I am such a good manic depressive. NOW you know I got worry when I run that list, don’t you?
I leave you with some good music if I can find some. Here you go:
Posted on March 8, 2011, in postaday2011, Uncategorized and tagged Better Music Than Yours, bipolar, Bipolar Disorder, I Don't Write So Good Sometimes, Mental Illness, postaday2011, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.