WATCH ME AS I ATTEMPT TO NOT RUN SCREAMING OUT OF MY HOUSE
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Instead of working on cover letters for job postings I have chosen to stick my head in the sand of procrastination and start singing to myself very, very loudly. The thought of getting tanked a few martinis also crossed my mind but then when doesn't that cross my mind.

I don't know what it is about cover letters and resumes and all the self pimpery that brings out the six year old in me but out he comes every time. It's sad really I'm only at my current anymore because I hate cover letters, resumes and applying for jobs MORE than I dislike my job. Let me see if I can somehow explain my feelings of helplessness, depression and terror.

Do you ever get that helpless feeling where it feels like the walls are closing in on you. That the only thing you can do is sit there and let them fall and end whatever it is you call life?

When you sit down to right about yourself in a positive manner do you feel like your feet are super glued to train rails and a locomotive is bearing ominously down on you?

Does the thought of writing a cover letter make you feel like an agoraphobic who when reaching out their front door to get a carelessly thrown newspaper looses their balance and lurches onto the yard thereby instilling them with muscle freezing terror?

It's these times that I really start to doubt my sanity and my ability to cope with the world. Sure I can write about my case of hemorrhoids, or my inability to come up with a set of lyrics that rhyme or my uncanny ability to clog any toilet. Yeah embarrass myself galore but try to pimp myself and I turn into a self loathing OCD hermit who can't find anything good about himself. One of the things that I find most interesting about these terror attacks is what I feel now isn't all that much different from the feelings of helplessness that I felt as a child. I really don't know what age I was when I would do this but six years old sounds like a good number. A number where it might actually be ok to be filled with irrational helplessness instead of a number say 12 or even say 29.

When I was a wee lad of six years old I remember crawling under the dining room table when it was homework time in the hopes that I could avoid doing homework. It wasn't rational and I seem to remember that it wasn't only due to the loathing of homework and the desire to be anywhere but at the homework table. The image I remember is an image of myself wallowing under the table in the attempt to out wait my mother so that she would go away and I could be left to do ANYTHING else. Come to think of it that was my standard operating procedure when getting the SCARY barber and avoiding going to church. That was the image, the feelings though are ones of sheer helplessness. I can't do this, I'm not smart enough, how do I start it, I don't understand what the question is asking. On and on and on the feelings of inadequacy would pummel me until whimpering I would wallow on the floor.

Yeesh makes me wonder why I'd ever want children since it's almost guaranteed that they would get some of this and then what good would I be? I'd probably wallow right there on the floor with them like a pair of sea lions rubbing their backs on a sun drenched rock yelping their helplessness for all to hear.

A little google on the internet about cover letters told me what SG already said. Paragraph one is where you mention the position, how you heard about it (if you heard about it from an employee or some such), and explain briefly your interest in the position while showing that you did a little research into the company/department. Paragraph two is where you address the required and desired qualifications that the position is looking for by using some examples from your current and previous jobs. Paragraph three finds us in the denouement of the cover letter smoking a cigarette and laying sweaty and exhausted in our bed of self pimpery. It all seems so simple until I start to actually write about it and then in comes the six year old overwhelmed with feelings of terror and inadequacy.


I'M TO SEXY FOR MY CLOTHES
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What is it about older men and their desire to prance around a locker room naked. Tonight there was this one guy who after showering walked right up to the row of sinks with his junk all hanging out and just stared at himself. There was a point where he must have heard something VERY interesting on the locker room TV because he walked his naked self over to the TV to see what was on and then walked back underwear in hand instead of on his bum. As if to make the statement "I'm sexy you think I'm sexy too watch me as my junk sways." WTF.


WELCOME MR. PILES OUR LITTLE NOT SO WELL KNOWN FRIEND
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How time flies when you have problems of the intestinal nature. Where to start, and whether one should even start or if anyone really even needs to hear about such problems. BWA HA HA.

About three weeks ago my body suddenly decided that it wanted to give me a little message that I am getting ready to get just a little bit older. So much like a mob gangster or loan shark who will come over to your house and break some of your stuff to give you a "message" my body decided to give me a case of hemroids.

In hindsight... hmmm hindsight, hind right-o. In hind sight I guess I have had many minor cases of hemroids. A little blood here, some more blood there but never to the point where a difficulty to sit would occur. HA-HA! This is no longer the case, or maybe I should say OH-NO. Before this experience my conception of hemroids was of old men talking about their hemroids acting up or of older beat cops with their humored cushions underneath their tender butts. Surely this is nothing that someone of my young and not so old age should have to worry about.

HEMROID CONTENT BELOW

Look away, try not to read this, try not to read this like you try not watch a oncoming train wreck. Hemroids if you ever wanted to know are actually caused when blood vessels in your anus enlarge to the point where the blood pools creating an inflamed region. There are the garden variety which appear internally and show up when you see some blood in the toilet. Then there are the Godzilla variety where they enlarge to the point that they actually are visible to the naked eye, the naked brown eye. I think the main causes tend to be constipation, straining, dehydration all of which lead to you sitting on the toilet too long which seems to increase the likelihood of blood pooling in those pesky rectal veins. I think of all those causes they might have left out one more thing .... playing Animal Crossing on the DS. That game is like crack, I know it's not good for me, it's a stupid game and yet I can turn it on and loose a half an hour just like that [snap]. So the only way for a humroid to go away is to give it time for the blood clot to be re-absorbed by your body. Sure you could have a doctor slice it open but only at the early stages if the vein is purplish in color. Once the vein becomes skin colored all you can do is wait it out.

So maybe I was a little dehydrated, maybe I was playing some Animal Crossing and maybe my body just decided that it had to go right as SG started one of her marathon 15 minute showers with all that shaving and bathing that women are so fond of doing. My body subconsciously waits for these opportunities to make me decide just how far I will wait before I either end up squatting in the backyard hoping to God that my neighbors don't look out their windows right at that instant or end the mystery completely in my marriage and do a number 2 while SG is showering. Why not go to another bathroom one might think and if one had said option one would but one does not. So far I have dodged the fecal bullet but every time it gets closer and closer and my will to fight it gets smaller each time.

I actually took a day off on Monday sighting "intestinal issues" because by Sunday I had nearly convinced myself that what I was seeing/feeling wasn't actually hemorrhoids but my intestines. I don't even want to go into why I thought this was the case. Let me just say that I have seen things that I would rather not see and may now be forever haunted by it. Monday found me sitting at a urgent care facility and awaiting an appointment with a doctor. I could have gone to my own doctor if I actually went to him on a yearly or even bi-yearly basis but with the practice I go to I don't think I've actually had the same doctor twice.

URGENT CARE NOTE

Something one might want to note when faced with going to a urgent care facility in the Columbus Ohio area is that they are all run by one company and that company doesn't currently accept Anthem health insurance. You get one free-bee basically and then after that you are liable for all costs. So Yipee my one get out of free urgent care card was wasted on hemroids.

Ever since my brush with Mr. Gomer piles I have had a few therapeutic conversations about it to help me get over my embarrassing condition. Wouldn't you know every time I mention it I seem to get the response "oh, hemroids? I have had those before." Granted I mean most people probably don't just out of the blue go "I had some hemroids last night, passed a little blood, little bit of pain but I'm doing alright just slathered some preparation-h up there and am fine."

Of my hemroid therapy sessions to date my most uncomfortable one had to have been while talking to my mother. Next thing I knew I was knocked flat after having been told that she has had them but never knew until she asked my Dad and oh by the way it runs in the family and oh have you ever tried those anal suppositories? Wha-huh? Anal + Suppositories + Mother. Weee may I live a thousand years and never hear that again.

You'd think that the whole thing would be done after my skipping work, diagnosis, and therapy like conversations with other people but you'd be wrong. One of the things that Dr. Valentine forgot to mention when explaining to me what a hemroid was is that they could potentially break thereby releasing blood down one's leg at a potentially inopportune time. Really though is there ever a good time for an expected stream of blood to be released. It could be worse I guess I could be a woman and then I would be exposed to this terror on a monthly basis. God must hate women. Sooo I luckily happened to be at home and was able to staunch the flow and create a band aid like application but then was stuck with the problem of bloody swamp ass for the next week. Bloody Swamp Ass? Well you know swamp ass right? Well bloody swamp ass is swamp ass with well blood. Ick ick and double ick.

SG through all of this has been very supportive except for a few cases when I could see a snicker come out of her mouth. Then there was her having one of my animals in Animal Crossing call me bloodybutt and then there was the motherly conversation that she tried to give me about washing blood out of my underwear. Seriously.

One humorous thing that happened during all this (besides the blood, and the pain, and Dr. Valentine, and conversations with one's parent) was that the Family Guy episode "Stewie Loves Lois" just happened to air around the time when I was having my hemroid experience. Just watch the episode again sometime and then try to imagine you just had a doctor check you out for hemroids.

Peter: My god, we've all been victims of Dr. Hartman's "Prostate Exam." Well gentlemen, the abuse stops here. I will not turn a brown eye to this. I am gonna sue that bastard and make him pay out the ass. No ifs, ands, or butts. I'm gonna be really anal about this.
(Pauses)
Peter: Sphincter. (edit)