Insidious Adaptation

"Get over here!" This as John (not real name), called me over to his locker. "Are you going to carry my football pads at practice today, or are we going to have to show you what happens if you don't?" A rhetorical question for it wasn't like I was going to be simply, "let off," by not assisting. I wasn't as intimidated as one might have thought, being a freshman in high school and this senior talking to me like he was. I was taller than him, and when he brought me closer, it kind of killed the effect yelling across the hall would have accomplished. John knew I was out for football, for we had already ran the gantlet of our 2 and 3-a-day practises. Most of the guys bond during this time, some bow out, some still on the fringes of being accepted. Outward acceptance was not apparent, however I think John liked me. I think he was mean to me in front of the other guys, but my willingness to do whatever it took to be left alone was downright ki...

The evening, a time at the end of a work day. Nothing significant, only another day at work, neither "good" nor "bad." Sometimes, after work, my mood is organically upbeat, not stimulated by some "good idea" or caffeine. Rather, I have my moments where things are good and I like those moments. Sometimes, however the night seems dreary, a continuation of the work day, despite my best efforts to see otherwise. Some days after work be like... The mind racing, thinking and interpreting things a certain way, a way that interferes sometimes, enhances others, but overall has to be accepted as "the hand I was dealt." I like quotes, for they encompass something I might never have captured. I quote people because then it takes some of the stress off of me to explain, after all, someone else more prominent wrote it, so there it is. The mind likes concrete concepts. Unfortunately, life is not concrete. Life isn't even as solid as Jell-O.  Life ...

If I could verbally express the way angst felt, maybe I could rationalize it, reduce its sting. Maybe instead of feeling this way, this uncomfortable reminder of something amiss, I could just let it go. Would I lose a part of myself? Are the same parts of my brain that drive me into being creative, the same parts that want things to go a certain way? Do I have to have one to get the other? Do I continue to do things for a motive of purity if the situation provides me with dread? Why do I dread? I could use an entire session in a counselor’s office. One reason is that humans exist and interaction is both biologically and socially necessary. Interaction means accountability and obligation, two things I obviously need, but despise the idea of. Acting "natural" doesn't come natural to me. Even when I mentally acknowledge these thoughts and feelings, it’s like scratching what I thought was an itch on my back, only to find out that it was my stomach the entire time.  I...

When I was in college I wet the bed one time. There, I said it. What'd I learn from it? Well, nothing. It was a thing, it happened, I felt embarrassed and hid my soiled sheets from my roommate. I did laundry early that morning for fear of a smell occurring. "I just felt like doing some laundry." My response to an 8AM question of why I was up so early. Embarrassing things happen all the time. To some of us that threshold is much lower than others. Some people seem to be able to walk around with a ripped crotch as though their shirt is simply untucked. Others, the wind blows their hair in the wrong direction (against the natural lie) and all day they feel people are staring at their "bird's nest." What is it about this threshold that when passed we cannot do much else besides think of what this will mean? Why does embarrassment serve us the way it does? Why must we experience what I can closely relate as pain from the humiliation we encounter at so...