Squishy mouldable things: poo, clay, and me

So 13 of you voted on my Do You Look At Your Poo After You've Done It? poll. Which makes me laugh, really, that 13 of you would have bothered. Thanks for indulging me, heh :)

So anyway, out of those 13, a whopping 6 people, or 46% of respondents, look at their own poo to check out what's going on with their digestion. I wonder what percentage of the average population do? Maybe the census people could look into putting it on the next national form to satisfy my curiosity :)

I think that the results of my poll are skewed because those 6 people were probably more inclined to vote than those who don't look, because those who do think it's important and they don't often get the chance to speak out about such things :) The opportunity doesn't come up much for discussion in general living, does it? I have never seen a stall in a shopping centre devoted to the cause of poo watching. There's no foundation that I know of. Poo is far too unsexy for promotion :) You can't really start crapping on about looking at your crap in the middle of lunch, can you? Unless you're like me. I broached the subject yesterday with my mum and my brother while we were eating lunch for his birthday. What the hell. My Mum enjoyed talking about it. 'Cause she's a health nut that looks at her own poo.

It was timely too because we were eating Ethiopian food, and there were these funny lentil things that looked like rabbit poo.

I'm sure Freud would have a lot to say about me and my shitty propensity. I asked my Mum yesterday if I smeared my poo on the walls as a baby. She couldn't remember exactly but thought that maybe I had. She believes that she did. So there you go. Blame her. It's genetic.

Nine people all up voted yes about their toilet habits, while out of those who voted no, 3 are grossed out at the thought of looking at their excrement while one person refused to participate in such puerility. Good for you :)

So thanks for playing everyone. It quite tickled my childish fancy :)

Speaking of soft squirmy masses that you can mould and shape, tonight I finally cracked open the bag of clay that I bought over a week ago. I've been too scared to open it, worried that I would be unable to think of anything, and having clayblock would just murder me. But once I started moulding and shaping and just generally stuffing around with it, I got this really cool idea. I LOVE playing with clay. I really love the 3Dness of it, the sensuality of it. I'm very happy that I got such a good idea, even though I actually ended up squashing it all down to nothing because I'm going to start again with it tomorrow. But the idea is impaled in my mind. Now I get to muck around with it. But sheesh, it's messy stuff, clay. The playroom has carpet. I really hope this isn't a bond-losing experience :) Perhaps I should go work in the garage.

I am personally back in God's little furnace for a fit of refiring. He is quite the master kilnsman, doesn't fire me for a second longer than I need. Producees work that lasts forever. And doesn't seem to get all that upset when I glare at him and say defiant swear words because the-fire-is-too-bloody-hot-and-fuck-me-if-im-not-sick-of-this-whole-remodelling-thang. Still, walking forward into the darkness is always worth it. Following that still voice so quiet that sometimes I don't know if I'm just imagining things, or listening to myself, or whatever. Still, seems to work out a fair bit of the time in hindsight that it does indeed seem that I followed that lovely shepherd voice after all. Not that this is provable to anyone except for my own heart. But that's all I need.