When you gotta go, you gotta go. This guy proves that point quite well. It doesn’t matter that he’s on camera wearing pink girly undies, nor that he is sticking his nose in them as he vacates his bowels into a trash can. He has absolutely no higher priority in life at this moment than spraying mud-colored fast food remnants into a sidewalk trash can.
Sure, he probably could have taken note of the warning signs earlier in the night. He could have gone home at the first flop of his stomach so he wasn’t pinching wet farts until it was too late. But as many of us have learned, we can ignore the hell out of some obvious indications that we should be paying attention to.
Procrastination is a tool I am well acquainted with, so I have sympathy for this fella in the picture. I’ve never been in this exact circumstance, but I get it.
I couple years back I found myself in a headspace that was eerily similar to our trash-can shitter. I’d been putting off some of the more obvious parts of personal care until I hit a point where every “priority” I had became insignificant, and the one I had been ignoring came to the forefront, and that was my health.
It’s always hard to look at myself with complete honesty; I am a master of the fine art of denial. I had a justification for everything; my weight, my diet, my alcohol intake, my finances, my relationship problems. When it all was funneled in the same direction, those problems came out exactly like the picture. Head down in shame, an emotional purge exploded out of my body like food poisoning from undercooked street cart food.
Up until that point I had completely stopped writing, and it has taken me two years to get a blog back up and running. Although the procrastination is gone, it has been replaced with insecurity. But there is this nagging that I haven’t been able to shake. Every day I’ve thought about putting words to digital paper, but up until now I haven’t. And if it weren’t for the trip I am about to embark on I don’t know if I would.
It is 5:00am on a Sunday morning as I write this. Nobody is looking at me, and I am the only one reading this, so my insecurity is kept at arms length for the time being. My motorcycle is packed and waiting to be let out of the garage to take me on another adventure, this time to Sturgis South Dakota to work for the 75th anniversary of the motorcycle rally. I get to see my family in Wyoming on the way there and back, and will get to camp in places like Southern Utah and the Black Hills in the Dakotas. I’m pretty fucking excited to be honest.
My third cup of coffee is down, and the sun is ready to pop it’s head over the Cajon pass and into Santa Monica. So for me, right this second, I gotta go.