The Ocean

I pissed in the ocean yesterday, and I wondered how that fared against the BP spill in the Gulf of Mexico. Even if everyone in the water (and it was crowded) urinated simultaneously, I suspect it wouldn't stack up against the spill.

Changeling

I have heard people say change is good. Perhaps that can be so. But I'm not good with change.
The status quo typically provides the path of least resistance and the most appealing option.
Change, like a bent train track that sends me heading toward a derailment, triggers in me immediate dread, and no amount of logic or intellectualism can calm the storm.
Even less-than-optimal situations remain familiar, and this familiarity doesn't so much breed contempt as provide comfort.
I'm an often severely depressed guy who hates his commute and job and has a penchant for binge drinking. Who would want to change all that? It reminds me of an early "Beverly Hillbillies" episode in which the oil-company executive wants to persuade Jed to provide access to his land. I think it's Pearl who says something to Jed about having no heat, no running water, and an outhouse that's far from the main residence, etc. He tells her that she's right, that a man would have to be a fool to give up all that.
Hence the sabotage. I am a saboteur. A self-saboteur. The question appears simple enough: Why fuss with medication if it would help you? Why drink if the aftermath of drinking can upset the delicate balance you (sometimes) maintain. I'm not sure I know why. Does self-destruction derive from a genetic deficiency?
My recent 24-day abstinence from alcohol serves as an example of a good change, though relatively short-lived. The beauty is that I can resurrect it. I think the hiatus benefited me more psychologically than physically. I found comfort in knowing that I could forgo drinking.
Some justification exists for tampering with medication. They're called side effects. If a medicine were effective and had no side effects, I'd stick with it. Sleep issues are foremost among them. Having to contend with depression while going to a job you don't want to go to and lacking a decent night's sleep doesn't equal a recipe for bliss. I know a lot of people lack sleep and don't like their jobs, but depression exacerbates the situation. And the situation exacerbates depression. Reciprocity.
Running through the woods recently, I've come across turtles on paths far from water. I've also spotted them on roads. They must be in some kind of migratory or reproductive phase. Change elicits in me a desire to pull my head back inside the turtle shell, to not deal with anyone, to shelter myself from the weight that the world brings to bear, from oncoming cars and joggers alike.

Love Song

My mother used to sing me a little ditty, apparently a version of an old folk song. The song apparently went something like this:

Oh, you dirty little devil,
Does your mother know you're out,
With your pants wide open
And your pecker hanging out?

Then there's the sanitized version:

Oh, you dirty little bugger,
Does your mother know you're out,
With a hole in your pocket
And your shirttail out?

And my mother's version, kind of like a love song to her baby boy:

Oh, you dirty little nigger,
Does your mother know you're out,
With a holey in your britches
And your shirttail out?