my sickness

Love. Joy. Passion. Excitement. Contentment. Serenity. Peacefulness. Hope. A wise man (or woman, or transsexual, transgender, for that matter) would pick any of the afore mentioned emotions to be their favorite state of being. He (or other more appropriate pronoun) would strive with all that was within him to reach that sensation as much as he could. Just to show that my prayers for wisdoms would prove to be ineffective, I apparently have chosen my favorite emotion to be guilt. Raised in pure, unadulterated fundamentalism, that should come as no surprise, I suppose. School has always provided an abundant source of guilt for me. Not really because I do anything bad or get bad grades. There is constantly something due that needs to be completed. It is a never ending cycle. Therefore, when I do something else besides whatever is due next, I feel a sense nagging guilt in the back of my mind that keeps me from fully enjoying whatever fun activity it is that is postponing the inevitable. I was excited to be done with that wonderful ever-present sensation upon the completion of grad school. As I sit to blog (a very short blog) and prepare to cuddle with the dogs and the boyfriend, I am coming to the realization that I have chosen a profession that continues the pattern of unquenchable guilt. Instead of blogging, I should be getting my lesson plans finalized for my students’ first day tomorrow. I should be crossing every t and dotting every i. Instead, I simply pretend that the alphabet is inconsequential to life and assume that my students (with emotional disorders) will not try to murder me when I show up and say, “Hello, I’m Mr. Witt [SHUDDER], and I have no idea what we are to do today, so we are going to sit here in silence until the day is over and I can go home and continue my self flagellation of guilt.”
In addition to guilt, I also get a perverted thrill in intentionally going against authority figures, know-it-alls, and overly-vocal celebrities. In short, I like to waste our natural resources. Its fun. True, global warming is going to cause the world to catch ablaze within the next decade or so. Probably. Maybe even the chicken-flu will reappear and wipe us out before we all get crispy. Let’s pray it be so. There is one area that I enjoy more than any other. I have no problem with Cheryl Crow. I like a couple of her songs. They are pretty. Sometimes. She has taken a stand on toilet paper usage. At least this is what I have read, probably on a bathroom stall somewhere. She is encouraging the public to only use one square of toilet paper per bowel movement session. Maybe this is prudent. Maybe this should be enacted as a law. However, it pisses me off (pun intended) when other people, government, celebrities, religious leaders intrude upon my behavior in my private bathroom customs and culture. Also, there are very few ‘straight’ male things about me. However, this is an area that I am all male in. One square ain’t gonna cut it. Trust me. I get such a lovely pleasure out of using ten or more squares at a time, especially those that are several sheets thick. Oh, yeah, baby. Bring it on. Hopefully, I will not get reprimanded at work for my gleeful squealing (very manly) when I am in the bathroom. Can I help my excitement when I am whirling the toilet paper dispenser so fast that it looks like the world is waving streamers in celebration of my excretion process? I give you permission to curse my name when the fires finally come due to our wasteful natures. I will be so enveloped in the ultra-thick sheets of cottony squares of pleasure that I will neither be able to hear you nor feel the heat.