I sort of wish the biosphere's animals, us included, could sort of lock out immediate needs once we hit the proverbial Zone in a given task or activity.
I mean, here I am, the day's tasks and chores done, loaded up on ibuprofen and anticongestants to ward off what feels more like your average cold than anything close to COVID, my brain well and truly primed and Executive Mode fully engaged, and my fucking bladder picks this exact fucking moment to go "I was okay as of the past four hours but, seriously? Right now? I really would want us to have some alone-time in the bathroom..."
Seriously, Body of Mine? I could've excused myself over dinner, like I did over lunch. I could've slipped out over commercials during TV time with the folks. I could've had those sensory inputs over the fifteen minutes the dog needs to go over each and every dang snowflake in the yard - but no.
It's always when my chart's just cleared up for the day and I'm looking at two or three hours of guilt-free enjoyment for various personal projects that my body goes "So, um, about those unavoidable needs of ours, right? Well, here's one.
Sorry about the new chapter you'd only just started after mentally recompiling the last thirty pages' worth of liner notes, it'll have to wait another, oh, five or six minutes. Y'alright with that, champ?"
Remember His Dark Materials, by Philip Pullmann? The concept of Daemons as a basis? Well, good, because I've got half a mind to posit that my personal OC Daemon is an anthro iguana in a dressing gown and a fez that spends his day blowing bubbles from a fake plastic pipe whenever he's not stopping to connect his single two braincells. He speaks in single words, usually sticking to concepts such as pee, poop, tiredness, caffeine withdrawal, arousal, annoyance or anger, and picks the worst possible times to interject.
If there's any Pullman stans out there, I apologize, but them's the breaks.
