Switching Off

I have just returned to work after a short holiday.  This was a long weekend of redneck wonderment.  We shot guns, threw axes, drank and we lounged in the water.  One evening I got pretty intoxicated and when I say intoxicated I mean I the events I am recounting are testimonies from other people.  I can only assume I was actually there.

I do remember, however, having to pee.  So I got up, walked over to the lake, fell over and promptly pissed all over myself with the choreography of a Laker girl.  It could have been a dance.  After everyone was finished pointing and laughing I propped myself up and decided that peeing next to a large tree would be safer.  I stumbled over to the tree and began to pee again.  I then fell over and continued my brief tradition of pissing all over myself.  It was a glorious moment and I remember being really, really happy.  “Why” you ask, “would I be so happy to piss all over myself?”.  The simple answer is that it was the type of reckless abandon I had not afforded myself in some time.

Yeah, it was one of those nights.

Yeah, it was one of those nights.

Just a few days prior I was stressed out beyond imagination.  I had not had a vacation in a long time, not a real one.  I have been busy murdering the cute little woodland creatures that so bless this Earth and things only got busier.  I was saving all my pennies to buy a bulldozer so I could run over that dickhead who thinks he’s the first one to call me Billy the Exterminator.

"You're like, Billy the Exterminator right?!"

“You’re like, Billy the Exterminator right?!”

There comes a point in our work lives where we find ourselves so consumed with work that we completely forget about ourselves.  Even on weekends we think about the job.  There is a lingering afterglow of stress that follows us like a bad broccoli fart.  Even when the opportunity for a vacation arises you often tell yourself that you don’t want to go!  You are so consumed that you justify your feelings with the notion that your absence might affect your work load later.  It’s utter fucking horse shit.

So fast forward to me pissing on myself.  Actually, maybe just after that,  I don’t need to relive it again. Shame is harder to wash off than campfire smoke.  At that moment work was not even in my brain.   It’s not that I didn’t care, it’s that I didn’t even think about it.  Once you release the tether that attaches you to your obligations, there is a sense of release and peace.  It’s like taking a much needed piss,  maybe not on yourself mind you, but cathartic none the less.

Vacations are not a reward.  I hate that our occupations make us believe that. It is as if  it is something we must earn with sweat and stress.  Taking time for ourselves is a necessity and should be a requirement for employment.  Bitterness, resentment, health issues and subsequent shit productivity ensue otherwise.

and life will be all like WHAAT?!

and life will be all like WHAAT?!

So as I went back to work this week and continued smash small woodland creatures apart and poison the rest, I did it with renewed vigor and enthusiasm.  The stresses I had the week before didn’t seem nearly so daunting and I solved many of problems I had previously struggled against with amazing ease, like Justin Bieber did when he set out to make the worst music in the universe and taint the waters of the talent pool for centuries to come.

So reach down, deep inside and find that dial.  Turn your Give a Fuck Meter to zero and go do something that to you, is soul food, even if that means pissing all over yourself.

pigeon

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