My dog has no self control, and I have to say that I'm a little bit jealous. It's kind of unfair, right? He just lies on the ground and licks himself, whenever he wants to. But then I try and lick myself in public, and parents try to shield their child's eyes as they walk hurriedly in the other direction and swiftly dial 911 with their free hand.
Although, to be completely honest, I don't think I have much to complain about. I respond fairly quickly to my impulses (I know you people, get your minds out of the gutters). I have marker fights in the middle of downtown, lie down in the center of the road in the dangerously dark night, and spontaneously burst out into poetry battles with my friends while I walk in between rooms. I'm moderately good with some one-liners (in my opinion, at least), and in general I think my reaction time is getting fairly good.
But then again, there are still limits. Licking myself seems to be firmly planted in the "off-the-table" category of human action. And yet, there's my dog, at the foot of my bed, just going at it. I call a foul on society.
Who decides what is and isn't okay?
The dog doesn't worry about what some passing stranger may find awkward. If he smells something, even if it is another dog's ass, he's going to sniff it. If that fire hydrant over there seems like it should be his property, god forbid he should try to stop himself from marking it with his own special scent. But me shoving my nose into someone's pants does not seem to be a rational thing to do (I promise, I know that).
Still, it strikes me that there was a time when I didn't know that.
Without going into the sordid details of my embarrassingly strange childhood, I can tell you that there was a time when I had no awareness of the societal implications of running onstage dressed as a giant bird (of questionable species) and singing along to "Rockin' Robin". In fact, there was a time when I used to sing at the top of my lungs--terribly. I remember thinking that I was spectacular; a few people told me different at some points, but I didn't listen, or I didn't care. I was having fun. Real, pure fun.
I think we miss out on that sometimes these days, because we get bound by some primitive (and by primitive, I mean so 1999) definition of what people should or should not be. This isn't a carpe diem speech, but...well, yeah, it kind of is. Sorry about that.
Really, I think I'm just afraid of growing up, and I miss that kid who wasn't afraid of wearing coconuts and a grass skirt to sing "Pearly Shells" at the talent show. I think that, the older I get, the more I'm losing touch with that ability to seize onto things. The rational part of my mind is starting to use...ugh...logic. I'm afraid of losing my imagination, my sense of humor, and wrapped up in all of that I'm afraid of losing my way and becoming something I never have been, like a businessman or a republican (just kidding, conservative buddies).
But in all seriousness, I have a new resolution: I'm going to be more like my dog. Not in a "lick-myself-in-public" sort of way, but in a "make-people-feel-uncomfortable". People--myself included--shouldn't be afraid of what happens when someone thinks we're weird. Push the envelope! Creep out strangers! Laugh rudely when people walk into poles! Who cares if it's childish? Children have more fun.
As I move into my aimlessness, I really really hope I can cling to that idea. If not, well...I guess I could always study hotel management.
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