Idealism and Sh*t

The guy who was pissing me off the whole week I was in charge just came into my room (actually Tony’s room– I’m using his room to study and have quiet time from now on. He has a couch, desk and king size bed in his room in the attic, all by himself. And he’s never in here)

So G just came in the room, and asked me out on a team “date,” and then told me that he thought I was doing an amazing job as an assistant team leader, and he felt like I was the team leader. And he really appreciated me calling him out on shit last week, and said he needed that.

And then he closed the door and left.

Just came up to say that.

So sweet.

He gets this little smile on his face before he says something that he knows is sweet. He loves that shit.

Come back early after dinner and jump in the shower. Only to be pleaded at two minutes later through the door by two teammates who just got home and have to shit. Three of them now. They are screaming to please let them all in: I just wanted a nice, relaxing shower. So I don’t open the door, and I’m so happy I locked the door this time for once. And I resolved that I will not have anyone shitting while I shower again if I have a say in it. I just want one peaceful place. Let me have my shower.

Found out today that George took a shit under the porch steps a few weeks ago. It’s just sitting there, if you know where to look. So that zen backyard spot that I loved? George’s shit hole. And Dre’s been shitting out in the backyard about 20 feet from where our chairs are.

Unheard of.

Can’t get the image of George squatting under the porch like a little troll under the bridge out of my head. And then him secretly laughing at all of us as we take our nice coffee breaks outside right next to his steaming pile of shit.

-People keep knocking on the door– I just want to get this blog post done.

In conclusion: what I have been smelling is probably not just the septic tank.



I’ll hopefully stop blogging about poop someday, but it doesn’t seem likely for the next five months at least. I can still write about philosophy while people continually scream about their daily shits, though.

Going to do that right now, as the toilet flushes again.

Jess and I are silent in our room, but every two minutes or so one of us starts cracking up at the events of the day. And our lives in general.

Tony is calling my name from the kitchen to try the bread he just baked. And Jess and I get up out of bed at the exact same time, trail one another to the kitchen, slice a piece of bread, marvel at its quality, and then slink back to to our bedroom one by one without any further dialogue with the buzzing people packed into the kitchen.

We get back to our room. And sit down on our respective beds, and crack up. Then Jess falls asleep. And I type this up.

Jess is going to video tape me tomorrow morning, because it cracks her shit up every morning when my alarm goes off. I jump off my cot, hit the ground with a thud and scramble in the dark, cursing and spitting and apologizing and tripping until I find my alarm and I turn it off. And every morning say, “I’m never setting that again,” and then fall back asleep.

Last night in the middle of the night Jess got up, and was rummaging through the closet for something. And I stood straight up in bed, alarmed and on red alert.

“What is it? What’s happening? Who’s here? What the fuck?”

Like a ground hog popping up out of my bed and scanning the prairie for danger.

Everyone is going out to the pub in town tonight. Would be fun, and this is the first time I feel like I might be missing out on a little bit.


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