Cocoon

I've spent most of the life that I can remember daydreaming in one form or another. I remember first having the ability to live in my head walking home from school one day in either the 1st or 2nd grade. I remember distinctly wishing for a yellow toy fire truck that would drive by itself and go to real emergencies and have firefighters jump out of the truck and go to handle things.

I was dreaming up this ultimate toy design in the context of deciding whether or not prayer worked, and whether the whole God thing being preached to me was on the mark or not. As it turns out the fire truck never materialized but even at that age I was aware that my wish was totally ridiculous and no God worth having would have any part of it.

I realize now that what I was doing was diving into my head to protect myself from boredom, and as the years went by I would develop that trend first into a vehicle for imagination and creativity, later a crutch to help me through crippling unhappiness, and then finally the method by which I denied reality.

I begin every paragraph with I. Who says blogs are for the self-absorbed?

I used to think I could turn my daydreams into a movie. A daydream from every developmental era in my life would be depicted without any outside narration, and the picture would form of a person growing up, aging, developing; from the ridiculous and innocent dreams of a child all the way to adulthood. I was pretty positive it was near brilliance.

But since I'm unlikely to make a movie in my lifetime I thought I would go ahead and use this forum to flesh out that idea. Many of the ideas that I'll write about are remembrances of actual daydreams that have kept me company throughout the years. They are an all-too personal reflection of who I was and probably still am.

Dream #1 - Early Childhood

I'm in a hospital on a gurney, pretty sure I'm dead. There are tubes and electrodes all over me. The doctor is angry that I died. He's venting his frustration to a nurse nearby who tried to help save me as well. He's so upset that he shoves the gurney I'm on up against a wall in frustration.

End of daydream.

(Notes on this one: This was inspired by a scene I saw on my favorite TV show, Emergency. I was aware that as daydreams go this one left little to be excited about or room to maneuver. Yep, I'm dead. So...)

Good morning

It's morning prior to Christmas. I've had lots and lots of thoughts lately regarding the auto-flusher in the men's room. When we first moved the office to the new building, the toilets and urinals still had the old fashioned handles. Sometime in November auto-flushers were installed. The urinals are solid and predictable, but the toilets have had a hard time working properly.

The toilets are out of control. I can't bring myself to actually tell anyone of my issues with the toilet for fear of being laughed out of the room. I think my issues are reasonable and I can't possibly be the only one who has them. The auto-flusher actually has personality.

I'm extremely regular, not sure why, always have been. I usually need to hit the bathroom right at about 9am. I think it's an old hang up from when I couldn't stand having a job and I needed something to look forward to besides wanting to kill everyone around me. I've picked a stall that's comfortable and made it "mine". No personalizing or anything but I do feel that the stall fits me right. It's like having a relationship with a cheater; you know she's seeing other guys but as long as your needs are met denial will take care of the rest.

My problem with the auto-flusher is that it's aggressive and highly unpredictable. I've been treated to splash back more times that I can count. Sometimes the flusher goes off before I even get down to business. Sometimes it flushes so much I think it's angry and trying to swallow me. Other times it won't go at all and I have to press the button to make it flush. It disrupts my morning routine by throwing a giant randomizer into the mix just when I need predictability most. I hate it. Yet I also love it.

I've found that it's unpredictable nature has made me respect it. In a way it's become like a friend that I check in with every morning. "How are you today?" I can tell how it's doing by it's flushing - whether angry, courteous, convenient, inappropriate - you name it. I've pondered the idea that it was actually being controlled by a very pathetic soul who got a kick out of watching men use the toilet (I know there are some people out there like that, who, prior to committing suicide, get their kicks out of watching men defecate). But that seems obvious and paranoid and I can't convince myself of it.

I've also thought that maybe the maintenance man is a prankster who likes to frequently change the level of sensitivity in the flusher so someone like me will never get too comfortable. But since that also doesn't fit with my idea that all maintenance men are regular guys, "real dudes" who would never carry around impossible quirks born from a lifetime of never being able to shut off the tiny self-absorbed narrative in their heads.

So...I have nothing. But still the auto-flusher will be there tomorrow and I will greet him, whether he rages like the North Sea in December, or is calm and welcoming like a mother's arms.