You know how sometimes the stress you’re experiencing is so high that a new, manageable crisis is a welcome respite? That’s where I’m at.
Imagine if you ate poison and can feel your insides slowly dying but as you’re dying, your coworker, Geoff–you know, Geoff, that guy in the office who complains to HR that birthday celebrations are “reducing productivity”–suddenly feels compelled to do nude jumping jacks while bleeding out of every orifice right in front of your death bed. The weird nude bleedy jumping jacks would be a nice distraction from imminent death.
Right now, it feels like wherever I turn, there’s an avalanche of unattainable goals. The only reason I’m able to write this is that I, early on, established the precedent that I spend an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. I try to manage people’s expectations of me, mainly by keeping them very low. The problem is, even with the lowest of expectations, I still have to figure out how to do things I’m very bad at and incrementally disappoint people while also accomplishing enough to actually keep my life at a baseline of comfort.
Sometimes, it feels like it’s all a pointless balancing act to distract myself and those in my tiny sphere of influence from the fact that we’re all going to die anyway. “Yeah, you’re right, boss, we absolutely need to send out this letter while pretending that the Grim Reaper isn’t giving me a hickey while also diddling your prostate.”
As kids, weren’t we all afraid of quicksand? Well, that was apparently all a metaphor, training for the quicksand of responsibility. It would be a luxury to have something to focus on other than surviving the hot lava of stress. Something manageable in the face of overwhelming hordes of chores and tasks and duties. Duties? Doodies! That’s it! If I just came down with an explosive case of diarrhea, I’d be able to put things into perspective! I’d runny-poop my way to enlightenment. Diarrhea isn’t really something you manage, you just sort of live with it. When digestive track failure hits, everything else just seems a lot less important than ensuring a bathroom is always close-by.
That’s how I’m going to make it through this, just deal with it like dealing with the sustained gut gurgles until I’m all out of colon coughs. I can’t relax or I’ll end up with soiled drawers. Just be ever-vigilant. Am I the first person to wistfully dream of a leaky sphincter?
I’m having a series of stressors in my life right now, too.
This means that my house is cleaner than normal, because my house always gets clean when I’m procrastinating.
I once caught my left hand in a door. Before I felt the pain or looked at the hand, I started banging my OTHER hand against the wall, hoping that the pain would keep me from realizing how bad the impnding pain in my left hand was. This sounds like the same sort of thing you’re talking about here, only with less feces involved.
This comment sounds like the guy who accidentally shot himself in the head with a nail gun, so he kept shooting himself. I don’t know if he hoped he’d die or pass out from the pain. The additional nails did not help.
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I’m at a loss here. What was this all about? Were you writing about the flu? A commercial about “where will you be when diarrhea kicks in?” or was it for sphincter plugs? I’m lost.
The TL;DR version is: Something manageable like gastrointestinal incident would be a welcomed distraction from the general avalanche of stresses I’m currently experiencing.
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What I love about stress is that the only cure is to lessen your stress-load. Which is, in itself, a very stressful situation. What I’m saying is that I’ve got the sweats just thinking about it all and I could only wish to flush out my stress via explosive diarrhea like some foul stress cleanse.
Up until about six weeks ago my job stress got to the point where I started to look back on my five years of short-term jobs mixed in with long-term unemployment as the good old days. Then I got transferred again. Since I spent a month out of those six weeks on vacation it’s still too early to tell if things will suck as bad as before though. Life has thought me not to be optimistic.
Ughhhh I’m sorry to hear you’re stressed. I know you’re a fellow nonprofiter, so I’m assuming its year-end fundraising time for you too and boy does that suck donkey balls. Bleh.
Do what I do when I’m stressed: drink heavily.
You are correct, but it’s also coupled with the fact that the only other two people in my department quit. I already checked with the CEO, it was not due to any unchecked body odor I may be emitting.
Interns! Temps! Volunteers! They can’t do heavy lifting, but they can stuff envelopes and do other mindless time-absorbing tasks.
Also, invest in a high quality cologne? I know the CEO says its not that, but….
I have a lot of stomach problems, so I don’t have to pretend that I’m sick. My furnace is leaking. I love the new dog, Penelope, but she keeps running into my legs when she comes in the house. My legs are covered with bruises. I can’t finish my editing because I’m fucking with the furnace and whining about how much my legs hurt, even with ice on the bruises. My son said he will be here soon. My son said he will be here soon. My son said he will be here soon. Trying not to cry. My son said he will be here soon.
Janie, whose son will be here soon
That turned into a Gil Scott-Heron poem there at the end.
There are times when our bodies fail us and leave us feeling like shit but those days do not usually last even we get better or we die either way they don’t last
“Colon cough” — good term! Never trust a fart, as they say. I hope your stressful work situation eases soon.
Sometimes you just gotta sit and let it flow, Pickleope Von Pickleope. People will complain and pound on the door, making demands, but it’s not your fault if they crap on themselves. You know? You got this, PVP. I know you do.