apostrophenow

'Til about the age of twelve, the majority of all my deep thinking took place in the bathroom. Which was all quite innocent, I assure you. And then, there was a strange period where God was speaking to me in the wilderness. By "God", I mean my Pud; and no, my Pud didn't speak to me in the bathroom. Literally, it was speaking to me in the wilderness. Anyway, I don't recall thinking very deeply for awhile.

Then I started smoking weed and, more or less, I was back on track with the deep thinking. Mundane tasks turned into contemplative explorations. I found that smoking weed while in the shower was an existential bonanza. Smoking weed in the rain proved too difficult to quantify the deep thinking. The bathroom offered a police-free sanctum sanctorum, where deep thinking could be enjoyed in reverberating safety.

Up until I started drinking heavily, which was around seventeen, I piled one deep thought upon another, not unlike a mulch, or a lasagna. Alcohol surely did cloud my judgment, and led to dabbling with pharmaceuticals, which led to an ill-advised experiment with taking a dump in the shower. Soon, I was engaging in debauched sex with sophomores, flag girls, and finally the drum major. A most grievous sin if ever there was one.

Many years have passed, and thousands of dollars later I have arrived full circle. Once again, I do the majority of my deep thinking in the bathroom, with the occasional foray into shower induced Satori. Sometimes, I smoke weed while washing the dishes and experience an epiphany, which I then promptly make note of on a yellow legal pad, but usually turns out completely illegible when I read it later. Thus, I am not a Sage. But a wanderer.