Empty prattle on a foggy afternoon

I'd sure like that job with Metro Transit's help-the-homeless program, but it's unlikely. I've applied for several jobs with Metro, and the bureaucracy is thicker than the all-day fog out my window.

A year or so ago, I applied to be a bus driver, but after six months of runaround I told 'em to fuck off.

They're not always lethargic about deciding, though. Twice I've applied for answer-the-phone work at Metro, helping riders find the right routes and stops — a job I'd be fantabulous at — and both times the answer was a quick 'no'.

Pretty sure that for their help-the-homeless program, anyone who wants to help the homeless will be disqualified. They'll want someone with a Master's Degree and six years of experience managing a shelter.

That's just me being pessimistic, but I repeat myself.

For the past couple of years, there's been less time between needing to go to the bathroom and really, really needing to go to the bathroom. Wouldn't say it's common, but there've been a few times when I've dropped my pants, started the process of bending over and sitting down, and the poop's come blasting out of me before my rump touches to toilet seat.

Getting old, man.

It's not in my top ten worries, but I can certainly envision pooping my pants one fine day. Probably it'll happen at work, if I ever get a job, or maybe while I'm riding the bus to work. Life is an adventure, ain't it?

Here's another poop-related thought: Being fat and none too limber, wiping is difficult, so while unemployed my habit at home has been to shower after a poop, instead of wiping. In the shower, I poke the hand-held nozzle between my cheeks, and a few particles of shit pop out and swirl down the drain.

Well, as I lifted the nozzle for this morning's shower I saw a blop of dried poop that was spread the long way across the handle. Hadn't showered yesterday, so that was two-day-old poop, and this being a shared boarding house, probably I should've been embarrassed. But shit happens, as they say.

And also, I'm not fully convinced it was mine. Even dried, it didn't seem to match my poop's ordinary texture and hue.

Once monthly, I watch a movie with my brother Clay and sister-in-law Karen, and sometimes a few other people. We usually do it over the internet, but once in a while I'm invited to their house, which might as well be in Wyoming, as it's hours from here and has no bus service, so someone has to drive me there and back, and I frickin' hate that.

Being as he's my brother, I try to say yes twice a year, so on the 17th I'll be at their house for a movie.

But immediately there came several happy text messages from Clay saying maybe we could watch some Christmas videos too on the 17th, and sing a few carols.

I ain't interested in that, and replied with what I've told him before, that I don't do Christmas. "If I'm coming over, it's to see a movie, but if this is going to be all fa-la-la-la-la and away in a manger, I'll pass."

He assured me it won't be Christmassy, but a few minutes later came several texts suggesting 'winter' songs we could sing, and a link to karaoke for the Grinch's song from that TV special.

It's December. I never should've accepted an invitation in December. 

He's my brother and he's all-Christian all the time, so I'm 75% certain our movie on the 17th will become a Christmas event, and about half-certain I'll cancel.

I miss Clay, man. Growing up we were so close, and then he found Jesus and I emphatically didn't, and ever since it's felt like we're casual acquaintances.

12/3/2023   

 itsdougholland.com
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