#oneaday Day 788: From the Depths of the Subconscious

Analysing your dreams can probably tell you a lot about yourself. If that’s the case, though, I’m not sure I want to know what my most recent vivid imaginings say.

I dream best in the morning after I’ve woken up once. At least, those are the dreams I remember. If I wake up when Andie leaves for work and promptly fall back asleep again (which, to be perfectly honest, I usually do) then I’ll often have incredibly vivid dreams which, more to the point, I tend to remember pretty clearly. They’re certainly not conscious imaginings, because there’s no way I’d choose to think of a lot of the things that flit through my mind. Rather, it appears to be a completely automatic process, presumably based on anxieties or thoughts already stuck in my head.

This morning, these bizarre “snooze dreams” were — and I apologise for what I’m about to recount — rather lavatorial in nature. To begin with, I found myself sitting on a toilet in an upstairs hallway of a house. It wasn’t my real-life house, though I think it might have been my own house in the dream. Quite why there was a toilet in the upstairs hallway was anyone’s guess. And quite why I was sitting on it when the house was clearly playing host to a large party is an even bigger mystery.

Despite the fact I had clearly just had a dump in front of all the passing partygoers — most of whom seemed oblivious to my presence and activities — for some reason (and again, I apologise) I found myself unable to… uhh… “clean up”, as it were. I found myself panicking and wishing all these people weren’t in my house, screaming at them to get out of the way, but still no-one paid me any heed.

I ran downstairs and found myself in the house I lived in for my fourth year of university. I knew there was a nice, quiet toilet in the back where I could complete my business, so I opened the door. I found a toilet all right, but it wasn’t the one I was expecting. Rather, it was in a large, L-shaped room whose walls and floor were all made of ceramic tiles. There was no ceiling to the room, and outside I could see that we appeared to be floating in space. Worse, there was no bog roll here, either, only three circular red buttons next to the toilet.

I left, and the subsequent journey was a blur, but I ended up in what appeared to be an aeroplane bathroom, albeit one with a sloping roof that met the wall behind the toilet, and a large skylight in it. When standing in front of the toilet, I could look out through the skylight, and I saw that we were in some sort of rural area. Outside the skylight, men in peculiar costumes were being shepherded away by strange figures I can’t remember any details about. For some reason, I thought nothing of this strange and slightly sinister behaviour, because I had more pressing matters on my mind.

There was a toilet paper dispenser on the wall, so I pulled the handle to dispense some, but the string of sheets went down a small hole underneath the dispenser. When I retrieved the paper from the hole, it was completely covered in a weird black sludge which was then all over my hand. After going “urgh” for a little while, I simply washed it off, finally wiped my arse (noting with some surprise that my underpants had not been soiled despite all the running around) and then woke up slightly worried that I might have shat myself in my sleep. (I hadn’t.)

This particular incident follows a long stream of other bizarre “snooze dreams” I’ve had which include being unable to go through with a sexual encounter because I didn’t have the sheet music for it; starting to read the TV Tropes page for my own life and being literally unable to look away from it; and a particularly unpleasant one where I lived in a big house with all my friends and we all suddenly started hating each other for no apparent reason.

My subconscious is fucked, basically. Oh well, at least it keeps things interesting. And the fact I can remember all this nonsense gives me good fodder for when I actually do want to do something creative and imaginative… though I can’t see a novel about someone who might have shat himself catching on, really.

#oneaday Day 558: Poo

Andie reckoned I wouldn’t write a blog post about poo. So here I am proving her wrong.

The word “poo” is one of those ones that never fails to make me smile in a childish manner. It’s not a scientific word in the slightest, and it’s right up there with “wee” in the childish stakes — only, for whatever reason, talking about poo tends to be more of a taboo than talking about wee. I’m not sure why this is — but it just is.

Americans, in my experience, tend to use the word “poop” more than “poo”. I recall an episode of Friends where the word “poo” came up quite a bit and it just sounded odd coming out of Matthew Perry’s mouth. The word “poo”, not actual poo.

The act of pooing is, of course, both unpleasant for others to witness and immensely satisfying for the person doing it. As a gross generalisation (in every sense of the word “gross”) gentlemen appear to enjoy a good poo rather more than the ladies, though there are, of course, exceptions. For the most part, though, gentlemen are certainly more prone to spending a great deal more time pooing than the ladies.

There are doubtless a variety of reasons for this, possibly the fact that being alone in the bathroom with your pants around your ankles is one of the only times that you’re truly alone and can sit there with your thoughts. It’s probably not a coincidence that Rodin’s famous statue The Thinker is sat in a distinctly pooing-like position. After all, what better time is there to get all the shit (no pun intended) together in your head than a time when you really can’t be disturbed by other people? Exactly. Best to enter the bathroom with your thoughts for company.

Or, indeed, an iPhone and a copy of Bejeweled Blitz.

I sometimes wonder if iPhone game designers did their playtesting on the toilet, because the very best iPhone games are friendly to toilet-play sessions. Bejeweled Blitz, for example, takes place in one minute chunks, if you’ll pardon the expression. A level of Angry Birds takes probably less than a minute to get through. And titles like 100 Rogues are easy to stop at any time when you, you know, stop.

So let’s praise the act of pooing. Without it, it’s entirely possible many of the great inventions of our time wouldn’t have come to be. Life’s great thinkers doubtless came up with their various theories of life, the universe and everything while pinching off a loaf. And surely many’s the author struck with a wave of inspiration while dropping the kids off at the pool.

Pooing, then: don’t be ashamed. Be proud of your poos and what you accomplish during them, even if it’s just another ridiculous high score in Bejeweled Blitz. Because seriously, the alternative is just staring at a blank wall, which is just no fun at all.

Poo!

(Enough.)

#oneaday, Day 303: Panic Stations

Human beings, and especially British human beings, are inclined to panic at the most ridiculous things. It’s probably a side-effect of being bombarded with negativity from the media and the news—if something bad could happen, then it probably already has, they tell us. (Maybe. I’m making that up a bit.)

But really, there’s no need to concern yourselves with these things that might actually kill you. Seriously. Allow me to set your mind at rest for a few of these things that typically induce enormous amounts of panic.

The kettle isn’t turning off!

The kettle is boiling and it hasn’t made that familiar, comforting “click” of turning itself off, you say? Well, isn’t that a pickle? Still, it’s unlikely that your kettle will detonate like a bomb if you don’t turn it off manually. In actual fact, it probably will turn itself off after a moment if you just leave it. Or if you’re really that concerned, you can prevent inadvertent kettle detonation by simply turning it off yourself. You’ll find it will stop boiling pretty quickly.

The toilet won’t flush, and it’s not my toilet!

Oh no! You did your business and now you can’t get it to vacate the premises. How embarrassing! Because no-one else ever has a poo, right? You are literally the first person to ever have a poo in someone else’s toilet. And explaining this situation to your hosts will be mortifying.

Never fear. In actual fact, your hosts have probably deduced the fact you were having a poo from the fact that you’ve been in there for more than the few seconds a wee normally takes. Also, you took a magazine and/or your iPhone/Nintendo DS with you. Simply explain to them that their toilet doesn’t appear to be flushing and is there a special trick to it? Chances are if they live with an idiosyncratic toilet, they know how to talk to the toilet pixies and make it do the thing it’s supposed to do.

Someone said a mean thing on the Internet!

You made a valid argument on a subject you feel passionately about, and someone called you a douchebag, whilst not contributing to the discussion at all. There’s a simple solution to this problem: picturing the person who called you a douchebag. They’re probably not a ripped jock with a six-pack who has a bevy of beautiful women satisfying his every sexual need at all times. He’s probably an overweight gentleman with personal hygiene issues and a taste for Cheetos or similar snack foods.

This electrical device that was perfectly fine yesterday isn’t working!

Rather than assuming that it’s “broken” and wailing to the heavens, why not try checking the things that everyone forgets to check? Is it turned on? Plugged in? Is the socket working? Does it need new batteries? Does it need batteries at all?

On the off-chance that it is, in fact, “broken”, consider what your life was like before you had the device in question. Was it significantly worse? If yes, then go get it repaired or buy a new one. If no, then you can probably live without your smoothie-maker/light-up dildo/automatic toilet paper dispenser.

I disagree with your opinion!

It’s okay. Really. That’s why it’s called an “opinion”. Well, it might not technically be the reason that the word “opinion” was chosen. But you are perfectly entitled to have your own opinion on something, and to be able to voice that opinion. You should also be prepared to deal with any consequences for voicing that opinion. If you slag off Call of Duty: Black Ops on the biggest Call of Duty fan site in the world, you’re probably going to get called a douchebag by someone. If you stand naked in the middle of the street yelling “I AM A NAZI!” you will probably get arrested. If you tweet “Crap! Robin Hood Airport is closed. You’ve got a week and a bit to get your shit together, otherwise I’m blowing the airport sky high!!!” then you will probably get prosecuted.

This online service which I don’t pay anything for isn’t working!

Twitter down? Facebook failing? Reddit “under heavy load”? GO OUTSIDE.

No further questions, y’honor.