When I received an email from someone saying she was in Masbate City, I thought it had to be a joke. Where was the “tur” splicing apostrophe? Mas’bate City? Alas, there really is a Masbate City, but the correspondence was a spammy fraud, probably coming from a place on earth nowhere near the Philippine City of Masbate. Still, at least I now know there is a place on earth where I can be a tur (tourist) among Masbaters.
This week I woke up with cuts on my body I could not explain. No memory. One was troubling. A slice on the inner arm just below the elbow bend. The skin there is thin. Any deeper a cut I’d be spouting blood. Another injury, or wound, on the left hand is equally inexplicable. No memory. Am I doing this on purpose and blacking it out? Apparently so. I sleep violent. I thrash and punch the air. I am fun in bed but a pain in the ass to actually sleep with. A king size bed is a bare minimum for clearance.
I do not feel right today. Sleep was joyless, and I slept through the 6am alarm, which almost never happens. I did find some innocent joy in showering myself, in cleaning the extremeties and bottoms of my feet with rub a dub scrubbing of Dove Unscented, which other days might be Irish Spring. I clean hard the body parts most men are said to avoid. Feet, toes, legs, ears… I also blow water up my ass, a relatively new flourish that changed my life for the better. So much discomfort in having an even somewhat filthy asshole. All this aligns with and is subsequent to an earlier decision that I shall now sit when I shower. That is the best, most improving change I made to my diurnal routines since anything I can remember. It makes all these acts of extremity-cleansing easier and thereby more effective. It is also just more relaxing and less stressful than standing, which feels awkward and even dangerous anytime I do it now.
I was almost late today. That sleeping through the 6am alarm is going to echo through this day. I feel panicky and will likely take another half milligram of the panic pill. More rain is coming, though most likely nothing like last week. I am reaching for the panic pill now, between typing these words. I don’t get this feeling today. I thought I slept well, with a two-thirds boner and some rich dreams which I promptly forgot. How did I get here?