Lingering In Those Halls
I've had a thought for a while I need to write more. Something different so perhaps I will focus on reality. A few lies thrown in to make a good story, but beyond that something from the past. For now. I'm always unlikely to stay the same.
First off I can't stand "you hear what i heard" lifestyles. When I say reality I mean feelings, thoughts, reactions, and yes reflections with real insight. Least I will attempt them to be that way. Questions? I welcome them.
So lets start by saying men are self-entertainers. We are born with this knowledge and have the tools required to entertain ourselves. Often times assuming we don't need anyone else to get the job done. Let your own mind fill in or create what these things could be. Body functions are constantly funny to us. Told right, they are funny to just about anyone.
High school has many issues, stories and humorous memories. But since I have chosen to bring up "self made humor" I will speak of a time I did not feel all that well. Now you may think of many issues could be spoken for. But this is self made humor. This of course requires farting.
Sitting in class with a stirred stomach I ask to use the restroom. Sitting there for a short time I found no relief from my time so returned to the classroom. Soon that deep gut clasping sting was back. I needed to go, badly. Asking again. No, you already went was the reply.
So sitting there in pain knowing I would not fail in a trip this time. But waiting, doing nothing but watching the slow moving clock. Time to asses what I can do. I feel like I might be able to pass some gas and feel much better. But that pressure, those lead butterflies, promise so much more then what I need.
Much better. Released and free. Quiet with nothing extra as I feared. Quiet. I can make it until class is out now, I think. I feel much better. That rather smells. Not too bad. Maybe else will really bother to notice. I can hear people gagging. Candy perhaps?
No gum, no candy, computer lab.
"Matthew would you come here?" says the teacher.
I should have turned in the project. I always do this to myself.
Going to the teacher's desk like a shamed puppy. "Yes?"
"If you EVER have these kind of problems again let me know so I can let you leave the room."
Oh yeah, that. It slipped my mind, slipped silently as I recall. It wasn't a problem anymore for me. Barely smelled it. My own fart smells bad. Oh yes that natural defense. Must smell terrible to everyone else.
"I tried. You wouldn't let me go. Just ask the recently deceased in a séance about this."
On a side note I don't think it was the best comment. Then again I'm not too well known for saying the best things at the best times. Nor was the best student, ever. Details, they don't matter that much so lets move on.
So now with the room clearly still suffering and all wanting an escape I am able to leave. Do I need a pass. Or have I passed enough?
“Just go.”
I go, entering the hallways that seem strangely easier to breath within. Maybe it was worse then I thought in there. Oh well I am out of the room. Unlike those slowly dying souls. Oh the cost of war. Room warfare, lesser known cousin to trench. But not forgotten in those whom fought.
Quickly making use of my exit I use the restroom for a fast exit of another kind. Still feeling something. I'll roam the halls, walk this off, lay down somewhere. C hall, b hall, I feel worse. A hall, another restroom. More exits of the other end of the body. I guess it WASN'T pizza pockets that made that smell after all. Launch of lunch, almost the same as it's chewed state. Hours ago swallowed, moments ago lost.
This battle was well planned.
Next day my best friend tells me of two terrible smells. One in C hall and yet another almost equally unpleasant one in A hall. Differences noted, pleasures far from garnered. Me, both me. I feel better today. But as a male I laugh and have my head up a little higher for a while. I'm famously making them laugh. That story of the day things smelled foul. It was me.
First off I can't stand "you hear what i heard" lifestyles. When I say reality I mean feelings, thoughts, reactions, and yes reflections with real insight. Least I will attempt them to be that way. Questions? I welcome them.
So lets start by saying men are self-entertainers. We are born with this knowledge and have the tools required to entertain ourselves. Often times assuming we don't need anyone else to get the job done. Let your own mind fill in or create what these things could be. Body functions are constantly funny to us. Told right, they are funny to just about anyone.
High school has many issues, stories and humorous memories. But since I have chosen to bring up "self made humor" I will speak of a time I did not feel all that well. Now you may think of many issues could be spoken for. But this is self made humor. This of course requires farting.
Sitting in class with a stirred stomach I ask to use the restroom. Sitting there for a short time I found no relief from my time so returned to the classroom. Soon that deep gut clasping sting was back. I needed to go, badly. Asking again. No, you already went was the reply.
So sitting there in pain knowing I would not fail in a trip this time. But waiting, doing nothing but watching the slow moving clock. Time to asses what I can do. I feel like I might be able to pass some gas and feel much better. But that pressure, those lead butterflies, promise so much more then what I need.
Much better. Released and free. Quiet with nothing extra as I feared. Quiet. I can make it until class is out now, I think. I feel much better. That rather smells. Not too bad. Maybe else will really bother to notice. I can hear people gagging. Candy perhaps?
No gum, no candy, computer lab.
"Matthew would you come here?" says the teacher.
I should have turned in the project. I always do this to myself.
Going to the teacher's desk like a shamed puppy. "Yes?"
"If you EVER have these kind of problems again let me know so I can let you leave the room."
Oh yeah, that. It slipped my mind, slipped silently as I recall. It wasn't a problem anymore for me. Barely smelled it. My own fart smells bad. Oh yes that natural defense. Must smell terrible to everyone else.
"I tried. You wouldn't let me go. Just ask the recently deceased in a séance about this."
On a side note I don't think it was the best comment. Then again I'm not too well known for saying the best things at the best times. Nor was the best student, ever. Details, they don't matter that much so lets move on.
So now with the room clearly still suffering and all wanting an escape I am able to leave. Do I need a pass. Or have I passed enough?
“Just go.”
I go, entering the hallways that seem strangely easier to breath within. Maybe it was worse then I thought in there. Oh well I am out of the room. Unlike those slowly dying souls. Oh the cost of war. Room warfare, lesser known cousin to trench. But not forgotten in those whom fought.
Quickly making use of my exit I use the restroom for a fast exit of another kind. Still feeling something. I'll roam the halls, walk this off, lay down somewhere. C hall, b hall, I feel worse. A hall, another restroom. More exits of the other end of the body. I guess it WASN'T pizza pockets that made that smell after all. Launch of lunch, almost the same as it's chewed state. Hours ago swallowed, moments ago lost.
This battle was well planned.
Next day my best friend tells me of two terrible smells. One in C hall and yet another almost equally unpleasant one in A hall. Differences noted, pleasures far from garnered. Me, both me. I feel better today. But as a male I laugh and have my head up a little higher for a while. I'm famously making them laugh. That story of the day things smelled foul. It was me.