Last night Leah asked why there is always lint in my belly button.

Belly button, why do you always have lint?

And my Belly Button sang:

Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!
Feed me, Seymour
Feed me all night long
That’s right, boy
You can do it
Feed me, Seymour
Feed me all night long
‘Cause if you feed me, Seymour
I can grow up big and strong

 

 

 

Part 1 

Once in a while, I have written or write about my good friend Tumbleweed Truthteller.  I think Tumbleweed comes from many different places and if I were to write about him in order, this would not be the first place to start.  However, Tumbleweed likes things mixed up.  There is a part of Tumbleweed that comes from inside of me.  The very weird, bizarre and painful humour… part.  Let me explain through a story or three.

Story 1
In my earlier years, I was dating a girl and went to meet her parents.  I came up the door and pressed the door bell.  I could hear footsteps coming towards the door, it sounded like a man–must be her father, I thought.  It was her father.  He opened the door.  I greeted him and reached out to shake his hand and, from out of nowhere I thought, I sure hope I don’t bite him. 

Story 2
Often, many people get themselves into situations where they wish, when confronted, they would have said something else.  You know, you get into a big fight and the next day you think of something really witty to say.  I do that, but I also plan what I might say for things that didn’t happen.  Yesterday I was walking up Centre St bridge and a cyclist passed me, which is no big deal, except he didn’t ring a bell.  I didn’t know he was coming until he passed me.  I imagined that I, for no reason, stepped over and accidentally knocked him off his bike.  Now, this is no ordinary cyclist, as you can imagine, but a very aggressive and unstable one.  He says What did you do that for!?! and shoves me.  Now, I, being clever, pretend to be blind.  Then he gets really embarassed and feels guilty for attacking me because I am disabled and rides away while another walker, a woman, chastises him for being such an ass.

Story 3
A couple of weeks ago, at the top of Centre St bridge, I was crossing the street.  It was late at night, probably around 9.  It was dark.  The place you cross the bridge is for pedestrians only but there is only a set of streetlights (not pedestrian stoplights) and as I was crossing this idiot behind the wheel of an Astro minivan doesn’t stop.  So, not having enough time to get out of the way, I put my hand out–to try and stop him–and make him see me.  He stops a few feet from me.  Recently in Calgary, there has been a string of hit-and-runs and I didn’t want to become part of that statistic.  Anyways, we exchange a few gestures and I continue on my way.  However, what would have happened if he had hit me?  Well, I was ready to jump, roll up the windshield and then grab hold of the roofrack and ride on top of the Astro.  It doesn’t end there.  Because, obviously, this guy is an idiot and is a hit-and-run type of guy.  Thinking he has killed or seriously maimed me, he speeds off, while I am on the roof.  As he goes up the hill I bang on the roof to let him know I am up there, he hits the breaks, I go flying and die.  What a tragic end after such a stealth ninja move.

I have tried searching my blog to see if I had written about this before.  I couldn’t find any evidence that I had–and I find that really surprising, since I think about it a lot.  What am I talking about?

Since leaving University, I have begun to shake off all the negative affects it had on me (there were many good as well, don’t worry).  It is hard for me to sum everything up, but I can say that overall I had very poor methods of dealing with stress.  Which, I think, lead to a very self-reflexive/self-absorbed mindset.  I didn’t mean to guyz… I’m sorry! 

I am not really embarassed at who I was because there isn’t much I can do now, except change.  But, I suppose, I would have liked to have been different.  And for being so self-aware I now realize that I wasn’t really aware at all.  Or, letting go off that pseudo self-awareness or focus on who am I, what am I doing, etc, I think I see myself much more clearly when I am not thinking about myself (as much)–but Rhett how are you more aware of yourself without thinking about yourself???  Don’t use your tricksy logic on me!

All of this, I have noticed, has directly influenced my writing/would-be writing.  In English 252, I wrote my first short-story and I wrote a/in character.  Every other poem/story I wrote after that was somehow, fairly directly based on something my life and in fact the character was always some version of myself.  This is a fairly limited way to write if you have to wait till experience something in order to have a story.  I have noticed, now that my stress is reduced and I don’t need to sleep 14 hours a day and play computer for the other 10, that I have begun to think in character again and it is good.