Lately, many of my strange and crazy thoughts have been given free reign. Unfortunately, the BoyBot and I have not been seeing much of each other lately due to work schedules and being so damn busy with organizing our move...so there is no one to reign in the twister of insanity which swirls inside my head, planting little ideas like poor little cowsies in an Illinois field (this is what I imagine the aftermath of a twister involves).
Like today. Today's big concern: My Not So Public Public Bathroom.
I cannot use a public bathroom unless there is an absolute emergency which would result in me having to change my pants when no pants are around to change in to. So, in light of the fact that I burn up 8 hours of every day in my florescent cubical of happiness, I have convinced myself that the potties here are NOT public. I mean, I need to have a security card with my picture (duly taken well after the "3" count so I look like I am in perpetual pain) to get on to the floor and get to them. I don't even need a security card to use the one at home. Pfff...if that doesn't say "Private Bathroom", I just don't know what does.
Yet this illusion of privacy sometimes back fires. There are times when I have been in there taking care of my business (I have heard that this is a much less offensive way of saying "piddling" - KB, now with 20% less offense) and there are some horrible noises coming from a stall nearby. Now I know, on a very basic level, that these are not things that can necessarily be controlled. And if it weren't for these bodily functions, we would likely explode (which would be much ickier). But I can't help feeling somewhat embarassed for that individual.
And then, of course, when I run into them at the sink (oh please, oh please...cuz if they don't go to the sink, they obviously didn't bother reading the sign about the proper way to wash your hands), I just can't bear to look them in the eye. I look at my hands, intensely paying attention to washing in between each finger, making sure every crease and groove is sparkling in hand washing glory. I check out my own reflection, making sure I am not trailing toilet paper or the sticky tabs on feminine napkins which have somehow missed the giant target that is the bin taking up 1/3 of retail space in the stall. I duck my head and run out, hoping they don't follow. And I feel this shame on their part for the rest of the day.
And then, of course, I go home and tell my children it is all a natural part of life and "if ya gotta go, ya gotta go".
But I swear I'm not a hypocrite.
This is what happens to my mind when I have 7 days of work left, and no BoyBot to calm me down. :(