Here’s the story of haphazardness, emotions and a traumatized sex-ed class.
I’m often surprised that furiously hitting a computer doesn’t fix what ails it. To be honest, I’m not much of a computer technician. The way I see, if something is broke and even the lamest human being, id est me, cannot fix it, then it’s useless. It’s why I maintain hitting a laptop always works. Some kind of failsafe for an eejit like me.
Of course, the magnitude of the force of one’s hit must be judged correctly. I hit my computer rather hard a few years ago. It went flying off my bed, onto my bedroom floor, nudged a pile of things on the floor, causing a domino effect, a mountain of junk cascading onto the laptop’s brittle LED screen. Needless to say, this made me more angry. In a fit of rage, I picked up an elastic band ball, part of the mountain of things now spread across the floor, and threw it at my cupboard. Being elastic and highly bouncy, I’m sure you can join the dots to work out the painful resolution of my actions.
I’m not an emotional person. Computers are one of the few things that turn my rage factor all the way up to Hulk-esque proportions like the reaction to 2003’s Hulk. My laptop is rattling. I’m one of the types of humans who has rattle-rage. The smallest rattle and that’s it, I’m preoccupied for weeks trying to figure out what’s happening. Thankfully, with laptops, they usually shut up when you bang them. And if it doesn’t work, your constant screaming usually covers up the sound instead.
I said goodbye to my baby nephew this week and my brother and his wife, who were visiting from Australia. I had that lump in my throat. It got me thinking if there’s a scientific explanation for that lump in said throat. I was trying so hard not to cry. I felt stupid. Hate crying. Never cry. It’s a testament to my high threshold for the prevention of emotional eye leakage that the last time I cried was when Girssom left CSI and not when my dad went to hospital after having a mild stroke. I’m not heartless. I was really upset. I wanted to cry but it just didn’t come.
I’m not good with emotion. I spend much of my time during emotions trying to figure out what the emotion is. Empathy? Could be empathy. What are the symptoms? Find a dictionary. Damn it. Everything is electronic these days. No electricity. Where’s that dictionary I have from 1963? Ah, there is it. Mildly racist, but still. Empathy. Understanding the emotional states of others. Nope, not empathy. Sigh. Oh sod this, I’m getting a sandwich.
I did Google the lump in the throat thing. Bit complicated. When we’re stressed, the nervous system kicks in. More blood flow. More oxygen. To increase oxygen, we breathe faster. The glottis expands. When we swallow, the glottis closes. But because you’re stressed, you’re breathing faster and glottis is open. That lump is your body fighting an open glottis trying to swallow. It’s muscle tension. Oh yes, not good at science, said my science teacher. Mind you, that was after a failed sex-ed exam after my first and only sex-ed class.
I didn’t enjoy that sex-ed class. I have vague memories of it. I think they showed us a porno from the ‘80s, possibly ‘70s, although it could be ‘80s in a room with ‘70s wallpaper. I liked that wallpaper. Probably why I failed the test. If it were a test about the wallpaper, then I would’ve nailed it. The young girls in the class were horrified by the video. “ARRGH! OH MY GOD! OH MY – OH, I’M NEVER DOING THAT! OH, IT’S DISGUSTING! OH – OH, MY EYES! WHY! WHY WOULD YOU PUT THAT IN THERE!” Paraphrasing, but that’s roughly what they said. Paraphrasing, of course, because I was paying more attention to the wallpaper.
I think we were too young to see that. But it did get the class talking about having children. Would I be a good dad? I don’t think so. I’m more haphazard than Mr. Haphazard Man. I just made him up. I couldn’t think of a decent simile. With the amount of disastrous scenarios I keep finding myself in, is my household a place you’d want to raise a child? Depends what I want her to be. Daredevil. I’d be okay with that. It’s awfully resourceful using your father’s mishap genes to earn a living. Aww, my wittle daredevil.
Emotions are funny things. You’re with one one day, and with another the next. It’s safe to say I’ve had a barrage of a multitude of emotions this week. This morning, for example, I was thinking about death. Is that an emotion? Don’t know, really. A thoughtful end to the week, mind. A television program coming up has a dead comedian on it, raised from the dead in hologram form. That’s why I was thinking about the end. A hologram me after I pop my clogs. The hologram wouldn’t do anything. Just stationary any way you want me. Sitting on the living room sofa smoking a pipe in a velvet bathrobe with half-moon spectacles reading a newspaper from 1923. That’s how I’d like to be remembered. A sort of space-age taxidermy. I think it’s the perfect way to remember me.
Completely lifelike but without the smell.
Irish writer and poet, Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde (1854-1900), once said: “The advantage of emotions is that they lead us astray”.
Peace Out :|:
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