Puppybeards, therapy, animals, stuff.

Awright, rereading that last post, I notice how judge-y it was to say "no one should be surprised I'm in therapy" and then backing down from it by saying everyone needs therapy. Because that's sort of the point of what I'm working on: to see myself with a tiny bit of compassion.

The thing where me and the counselor keep getting tangled is because I will use words to describe myself that to me are very positive and funny, and to her sound like more self-abuse. We're working on it. One of the things I've embraced since I was a kid was that I was weird. It was reinforced by kids I hung out with, some friends and others in high school, my ex, etc., and I just rolled with it and decided everyone is weird. Which is the same as saying "weird is normal," which just makes it weird that we have a concept of normal. But if I sub out some words to say it to my counselor, then it's ok to be weird. If I say "artsy" or "eccentric" (god forbid) or "creative," it's all cools.

Changing the subject.

People are animals. At least half the internet is about food and sex, which are basic animal concerns. We just have more ways of thinking about them. But they're just as consuming as they are to a coyote. Do you think a coyote thinks of itself as different than other animals? I'd guess probably. And if we're just animals (special, special animals dominating the planet, fear not) it explains why no matter how fancy-schmancy our tech gets and no matter what amazing things we think of, we just can't quite seem to discipline ourselves in order to live peaceably with all the other animals and save our own goddamn planet and ourselves. Our animal drives keep us feeling like yes, everyone should have as many babies as they want (you're weird if you don't!) and we should take everything we want from the planet regardless of consequences, and our way is the right way, whatever way we're doing things, and we should outcompete other people and animals at every opportunity because THEY'RE just animals. Even though we're capable of better.

Fuckin' discipline, man.

Changing the subject again.

Last night I created a parallel universe where puppies are born just half-baked, and must velcro themselves to a beard on a man's face to continue gestation for a few more weeks. If they don't attach within a few hours they will die. After a few weeks of gestating, they fall off, like a 3.5 pound cotton ball, and roll down the street to the puppy adoption agency. Everyone takes care of puppies. It's a symbiotic relationship and in many cultures men gain status by how many dogs their face has nourished. It's a tough world for very hirsute men who can't keep themselves clean-shaven for more than a few hours... They've always got a puppy in the face-oven.

Sometimes men want to shave off the puppies because they're going to a wedding or whatever, or it was their first peach fuzz and they didn't know how to shave yet or that the puppy would attach so quickly while he was sleeping, and they're just not ready to gestate a puppy on their face, and people with these issues can go to a clinic to shave off the puppy (It goes 'yip!' when they cut the hairs). There are other people who want to completely defund Planned Puppybeard and think this is highly immoral. But there are so many freaking puppies!

I also decided last night that when I'm dead I want to be cremated, and then Scotty should mix a little water with my ashes and make me into a ball, and then he should throw me at Jose Canseco, who will hit me with a bat and I'll go POOOOOF! into a big cloud and everyone will cough and try not to get me in their eyes. It's going to be AMAZING.

Alternatively, he could put my ashes in a tiny piñata, and lots of people could take swings at it.

It was a good idea-having night.