Praise Beelzebub you filthy elbow junkies.
This is Blog Number 7.
I promise to have some class prose next time, but I need to get this story out before I miss the moment.
I’ve been a little busy with the Coronavirus and the anxiety it brings so it’s been super hard getting the creative juices flowing. I have been playing guitar heaps though, I’m getting pretty good. I’m thinking of joining a band.
I’ve added a Patreon link at the bottom of the blog, so if you enjoy my fables, I would appreciate a contribution if you can afford it, if you can’t that’s ok. I’m running this blog on a platform of kindness and soundness. Even if it does become successful, I won’t create exclusivity because of currency. Everyone gets the same content.
Some shit capitalism as well.
I’m obligated to say that I’m getting paid to promote the below item.
Don’t buy this shit please.
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So there I was.
Down on my knees, genuflecting next to an IBC filled with baby blue hand sanitizer. A thousand litre behemoth that I just damaged with a forklift.
I don’t want to be unemployed at this point.
As you know, I’ve been having major issues with my boss, and with my big project over, I am now back to working office hours.
My regular duties have seized and I’m trying my best to adapt to the changes. I’ve always been a Manager, a damn good one too, but I’m a delegator. I can be hands-on when it’s technical stuff, but ‘business as usual’ is usually handled by my staff. It is different now.
That’s why I’m here now, on the floor.
I went to lift a pallet to make some space for other stock, but alas, I fucked it.
I took the tap clean off with the tip of the fork.
It wasn’t until the wheels lost traction that I realised that the floor was soaked with the product. It’s not alcohol based sanitizer, so it’s not dangerous, but it is slippy and runny.
My initial instinct was to leap off the hoist and try to use my hand to stem the flow. So I did.
Bad fucking mistake.
I was running on air, the best I could do was launch myself by pushing against the hoist and into the foreboding gush of lavender smelling liquid. I must’ve looked like a complete twat.
However, I did manage to get my hand over the gaping anus of the giant plastic box, and I did manage to stem the flow.
I sat in that position for about ten minutes, ten minutes that felt like paleolithic eons. Screams and despair was all I could hear as I forced my palm onto the hole with my eyes closed, it stings.
It was working, but it was painful. I was getting whole body weight onto my hand, like when you are loosening a stubborn wheel nut. Somehow you are able to send all your strength just to one limb. This is quite hard to explain, but I think it has something to do with adrenalin.
The huge crevice was bigger than my palm so it was squirting through the gaps, soaking my fabulous wax leather jeans.
Someone turned up with a wooden pallet corner. The cheap chipped wood kind, so after taking my hand off the hole, a swift thud with a hammer stopped the leakage. Crisis averted, but the markings on the side said we lost eleven litres.
I was reminded of this when my boss kept repeating it to me. At least he spoke to me I guess, it has been two weeks mind you. I was pining to hear his cunt voice.
I was still wet when we tipped it over on it’s side and I hooked up a makeshift pump from an old bar we had in the warehouse.
Quick note.
The pump was overheating, so I wrapped the pipes carrying the liquid around the motor. The cool liquid took the heat off the pump like an outboard motor.
Fucking genius me, but I digress.
Clever me
My legs and torso were soaked, but the worst was yet to come.
Capillary action lads.
The way a liquid behaves when it comes in contact with certain types of matter. It doesn’t give a fuck about things like gravity or momentum.
Capillary action took the sanitizer to my taint and balls, it was extremely unpleasant. I ride a motorcycle to work, so I’m used to soppy bollox, but this was foamy shit. Almost too luby. Like when I decided to put barrier cream on my nuts because some of the other rugby players were doing it. I had the worst game of my life. That’s a stupid thing to do.
It was about midday when I couldn’t take it anymore.
The lather had turned to a crispy type of material and I sorted out the transfer of the fluid, so I went to the bathroom/shower.
I got completely naked down there and proceeded to rinse my tighty whities in plain water. The water in the sink was foaming as I rubbed it. If someone had to walk in, it would definitely look like I was having a tug.
I then hung my undies on a broom and put it under the dryer. A few more eons pass and I yank out my phone, still balls out.
I scroll Facebook, quickly passing the borderline porn stuff, not a good time.
That’s when I saw my friend Arlan do a live video.
Arlan is good dude, very inspiring. We haven’t spent a whole lot of time together, but he is one of those guys that you have lengthy conversations with, and for some reason, you come out a better person on the other side.
I wasn’t going to watch the video, because of my naked balls and that, and sometimes I think that live streams record you as well. But he hadn’t had a haircut in a few weeks and I was attracted to the absurdity of never seeing him so ungroomed. I mean, I was enjoying the novelty of staring at my nuts, how bad could it be.
The video was not funny, he was asking some serious questions about what is bothering men at the moment.
I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to use a big word, so I commented.
“For me it’s the lack of achievement vs potential.
The paradoxical ways that opportunities present themselves and the sacrifices I refuse to make in order for me to find personal meaning.
But you already know this”
I don’t often talk about things like this on Facebook and especially not with my testicles exposed, but somehow he got me to open about it. He has that effect on me. Just like hand sanitizer on my scrotum.
He replied,
“Does the opportunity present itself in a paradoxical way? Or is paradoxical the way you view opportunities? What have you refused to make sacrifices, and what would these sacrifices look like?”
I posted a GIF or some shit, but this kind of hit home.
Standing there looking into the mirror, then at Arlan, then at my naked balls. I came to the realisation that I am my own obstacle. I am the one creating these paradoxes and stumbling blocks. I self sabotage all the time and then blame my circumstances.
Inspirational Lad
I snap out of it, still marvelling at the freedom of my dangling testicles as I put my soggy underpants back on. It’s still wet in places, but it’ll have to do.
On my way home on my cartoonishly coloured Kawasaki, I reflect on my day. I think about my testicles and how shiny they were, but I also think about that comment.
I’m 40 now, some will say that this is young, but for me, this is my dad’s age. I remember him when he was 40.
I have had many opportunities to be the man I want to be, and although I know that there is no such thing as perpetual happiness, I could’ve had way more moments of bliss than what I currently have.
I have loads of things that give me meaning, but they do not sustain me. All I ever wanted ever since the football career failed was to be an author or writer. Not because of the financial successors it would bring, although that would be nice, it’s because I’m in love with the process.
The problem is that a big part of my identity and who I am, lay within my ability to write. When I write badly, I beat myself up about it and I find it hard to recover.
So I self sabotage.
I’ve been solicited for work, but this is what I’ll do. If I get an article deadline to go out in a week’s time, say a Sunday. I will do sweet fuckall all week, and then suddenly on Saturday night, I will scramble to finish the article.
Here’s what I’m doing when I do this.
If I submit the article and they use it, I will brag that I finished it in one night and I’m a literary genius. But if they tell me it’s shit, I can say that I didn’t have the time and my job and family keep me busy.
In hindsight, this is how I protect myself from disappointing myself.
I don’t put any of my personality into my day job, maybe that is why I’m so fucking good at it. I will get over my writing anxieties, I know I’m pretty class. I think I’m in that part of the process now.
This is kind of why I started this blog, I don’t only enjoy it, but I use it to build my own confidence by putting out creative work that requires me to find out things about myself.
Life and knowledge is not a slow passing of linear time, I just found out that life is the capillary action of past mistakes that slowly seep into your underpants and forces you to look into the mirror at your own soapy testicles.
Put that quote up in toilet cubicles you gorgeous cunts.
Until we meet again.
If you are a rich prick
