After weeks and weeks of little beyond data entry and other nominally trainable-monkey tasks at work, I’ve finally gotten something to do of substance. It’s not hard, frankly, but it’s incredibly detailed with a whole lot of if-this-then-that, something I’m fairly good at.
In my excitement to be of use, however, it seems I’ve made some sort of unconscious decision to ignore my bodily functions.
We don’t have to go into details here – I can see you nodding “yes, please don’t” – but I’m willing to bet I’m not the only person who does this.
And I’m not a betting woman.
Wasn’t this a new year’s resolution, to eat when I was hungry; to drink more water; to go to the bathroom, for cryin’ out loud, when needed and before threat of an unseemly accident?
It all started in the mid-60s, when I was but a wee lass. My father was a traveling salesman, his route encompassing Minnesota, Wisconsin, North and South Dakota; and I sometimes traveled with him. That’s a lot of territory, all covered in an ancient Rambler once owned, according to my father, by PT Barnum.
He might've been kidding when he told me that.
Dad was interested in “making good time” and kept a book on mileage, gas purchases, and how many miles to the gallon he got. My father, child of the pioneers that he was, scorned the idea of diners, stretching one’s legs, wayside rests or anything that would cause you to use a wayside rest.
My father had the bladder capacity of a – well, of something that never had to pee.
Don’t get me wrong: Dad taught me to read a map by, like, five years of age, and told me fascinating – and sometimes even appropriate – stories about his childhood, his time in the military, and how Gene Krupa had style but Buddy Rich had the chops…
Things have changed, though, and I am now allowed to drink water, eat, and relieve myself at my leisure.
Within the limits of social confines, of course.
But here I am again, lots to do and trapped in the passenger seat of the Rambler of my mind.
If I could only get me to pull over.
In my excitement to be of use, however, it seems I’ve made some sort of unconscious decision to ignore my bodily functions.
We don’t have to go into details here – I can see you nodding “yes, please don’t” – but I’m willing to bet I’m not the only person who does this.
And I’m not a betting woman.
Wasn’t this a new year’s resolution, to eat when I was hungry; to drink more water; to go to the bathroom, for cryin’ out loud, when needed and before threat of an unseemly accident?
It all started in the mid-60s, when I was but a wee lass. My father was a traveling salesman, his route encompassing Minnesota, Wisconsin, North and South Dakota; and I sometimes traveled with him. That’s a lot of territory, all covered in an ancient Rambler once owned, according to my father, by PT Barnum.
He might've been kidding when he told me that.
Dad was interested in “making good time” and kept a book on mileage, gas purchases, and how many miles to the gallon he got. My father, child of the pioneers that he was, scorned the idea of diners, stretching one’s legs, wayside rests or anything that would cause you to use a wayside rest.
My father had the bladder capacity of a – well, of something that never had to pee.
Don’t get me wrong: Dad taught me to read a map by, like, five years of age, and told me fascinating – and sometimes even appropriate – stories about his childhood, his time in the military, and how Gene Krupa had style but Buddy Rich had the chops…
Things have changed, though, and I am now allowed to drink water, eat, and relieve myself at my leisure.
Within the limits of social confines, of course.
But here I am again, lots to do and trapped in the passenger seat of the Rambler of my mind.
If I could only get me to pull over.
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25 comments:
My brother has a Rambler also, until when I was 18 (also in the mid-60's) and put it into a river. They float quite nicely for a surprising distance.
That's called "laser-like focus" and it's a good thing! ... as long as you do pull over on a regular basis as well :)
I'm a lot older than five and I STILL can't read a map.
Pee before you read this.
Pull over Pearl pull over. Hug B
You have my permission to leave the room, or car, Pearl, whenever you "haftah"! At least you get to "go" inside where it's warm and dry. I get sent to the yard.
doggie kisses from Daisy
Loved this, especially after a recent bout of every 2 minute kidney stone going, but not going, going.
Your last sentence should definitely be in the chorus of a country music hit.
"trapped in the rambler of my mind" Even a rambler will break down without proper fuel breaks Pearl.
Train up a child in the way she should go; even when she is old she will not depart from it. --Proverbs
Should Fish, I'm assuming both the Rambler AND your brother float nicely?
jenny_o, is that what it is?! Focus? Oddly enough, I have been working on creating more focus in my life, so it is good to hear that I am succeeding!
Indigo, and turn off the tap.
Buttons, I should add it to my calendar!!
Daisy, oh, I gave up going in the yard AGES ago. ;-)
joeh, :-) Sorry to hear about your non-going going. Had a bladder infection a couple years ago and thought I'd weep with the frustration.
Delores, that's it! I'm heading toward the bathroom!!
vanilla, that would've made a nice title for this. :-)
Pearl, as you likely know, that state of focus is also called flow, and I wish I'd thought of that in my first comment! Never too late for a second shot, I say :)
Seriously, that state of flow - when I'm there, I can go for hours without eating whereas the rest of the time I am truly a grazer. It's amazing how the mind can control things.
The body knows; listen to it.
I went to Catholic school and was only allowed to go when it was approved. The word bathroom was never spoken, it was disguised under the name of lavatory. Girls were expected to be ladylike and "suffer it up". I have been plagued with kidney stones ever since.
Go pee, Pearl, and enjoy the moment.
Hari OM
Gotta do what's gotta be done. 'S all there is to it. YAM xx
Adult pampers ?
If you keep sitting at your desk like this then that will be pee running down your leg.
If it was my body on Line One you would be getting rather a lot of obscene phone calls by now. My body wants what it wants - NOW!
Ah, the luxury of adulthood... youre getting spoiled and soft Pearl.
We've all been there, Pearlie. Too busy to pee. It's a sad state of affairs.
Oh, my.
Pull over! Now!
Or start buying the giant economy size packs of adult diapers....
You guys got P.T. Barnum's Rambler? Wow! All we got was a Chevy from a little old lady in Pasadena. I guess the pitch changed by the time it reached California.
My dad had Bonnie and Clyde's car. Wonder if your dad knew my dad. As a teacher, I know what you mean about holding it.
When it comes to capacity, my wife is a camel. So I don't let her drive.
I have the bladder the size of gnat's and yet I still wait until I'm ready to explode before racing to the toilet because "I'm busy."
Some of us never learn.
My husband's grandma used to tell us to eat and use the bathroom whenever we got the opportunity because you never know when the next chance will come around. I realize that knowing this does not really help you in any way, but I just thought I'd share. :D
Yeah, I get the same way when I'm truly engrossed in my writing. I have to finish before I go. I'll be typing and squirming in my seat at the same time. I can't imagine that's truly good for the creative process, but I'm selling stuff, so...
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