Tag Archives: icky

I feel icky.

I had to cut my last appointment short this afternoon and spent several hours growling and stewing.

The man was developmentally delayed and had nervous ticks, which I initially thought was something akin to turret’s syndrome.

He had no concerns of note and had come for a relaxing massage. I work at a chiropractic clinic, those words are not common in that environment, but not unheard of either. Some of my female clients came to me initially because of a problem, but when said problem resolved they were hooked and now keep coming back even without major complaints. So just because someone asks for a relaxing massage, my spidey sense doesn’t necessarily activate. Bonus this man was new to me, but not the clinic, as far as I was aware.

I proceeded to complete my session as requested, and most often I start men face down, this was no different.

I never used to do that, as in Iowa it wasn’t a problem- ever- to start men face up. But once in the KC area, another therapist had recommended it at one point for helping men to chill out. Apparently, men down here have more trouble controlling themselves and relaxing into therapeutic sessions. Don’t ask me why geography causes that, I have no idea, and bonus it ticks me off.

Anyway as I worked he kept adjusting himself. Once I had him turn over, still under the sheets, he began fidgeting excessively. I stopped several times until he would settle.

Then he did the show stopping act of touching himself. The first time I thought I’d made it up in my head and paused. Second time was obvious. I stopped again and looked at the clock, I was 20 min from end of session. I looked back to see his hands moving and was done.

I thought what if this man is so damn delayed that he genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing is wrong. Where I would normally punish that act on my table, this time I didn’t. I finished working on his shoulders, dropped the table to normal height and walked out without saying a word.

As soon as I cleared the hallway I informed both the chiropractor and the front desk that he was not allowed to schedule any further massages due to touching himself in session. I also required full payment for his shortened session as punishment, saying he needs to learn that lesson.

Later I found out that his card bounced and will have to be sent to collections. Not only was I subjected to icky, I may not get paid for my time. I seriously wanted to hunt him down.

As it is, I’ve stewed over it for several hours and it’s caused me to want to change one of my art images hanging on my wall.

I can’t say my art piece had anything to do with it, but I have gone nearly 2 years without such vulgarity and the only thing that changed was I hung an image I did almost a decade ago.

The image was a commentary on creation. It shows the silohuette of a cell, sperm, and embryo over a watercolor resembling a star nebula. I was trying to make a statement that conception is only part of creation. You must follow through by nourishing the growing embryo to even hope to birth anything. A star is not born overnight, it takes aeons to go from a colorful gaseous cloud to what we know of as a star. I was conveying that it doesn’t matter what birth you are aiming for, they all take time, nourishment and patience.

I think it is a beautiful image with a beautiful message was why I hung it in the first place. I thought it deserved for others to see it and no longer hide in my portfolio. So I hung it last week.

Now this icky man.

So I’m going to take down my beautiful image and replace it with one fitting of a chiropractic office. I have a drawing a few years older even the is of a whitetail deer sacrum from the proximal view. I suppose it is the better image for the environment and will hopefully keep any further icky out of my office.

I don’t know that I have either image accessible to post here, so I’ll post them when I do the exchange.

May you never have icky throw up on you at work. May you know for certain that you did nothing to attract such icky moments. May your creations be truly appreciated and see the light of day more frequently. May you know that the true meaning of your work is known and appreciated always, regardless of whether it is artwork, healing, or anything else you do. May you know that God loves and supports you in all that you do.

Om Shanti

I feel icky.

Nathan and I joined my mom, my brother and his wife and spent the day packing up my father to move him to my sister’s in Arizona.

My parents divorced 7 years ago because my dad’s retirement was torture for my mom. She didn’t have to help, but was there for me. I am very appreciative.

Several hours later I feel icky in our ride back to Kansas City.

His trailer is full of mold. There were dozens of icky things, including canned goods so old they were bulging and leaking. Dirty dishes that has sat in the sink for the past month were rancid. Boiled eggs left in the fridge were so old they were growing mold, that puts them probably about 2 months old.

We pitched every food item because most were well past expiration dates, and even unopened items were not worth keeping. Everything had a thick layer of dusty grease making it feel icky to the touch.

My father didn’t just have duplicates of things, no most items came by the dozen. I thinned a lot of things, but everything else I just packed because my sister had said she didn’t want us to thin at all. She had no idea.

The icing on the cake was discovering dad’s girl clothes, at which point my mom confessed that he was a bit of a cross dresser. She explained the ladies panties were probably his and that he had a penchant for those and silk, especially stockings. He never wore exterior cloths intended for women. No just undies.

I was less shocked or grossed out, and more angry. Again because dad has spent my whole life picking at other people’s appearance and treating women like objects. I can’t count the millions of times he picked at men with long hair or butch women. To find out he didn’t stick to his own genders’ box, is insulating to everyone he ever gave grief over appearance and clothing choices, which includes us kids and my mom.

Nathan found his condoms, and fortunately his porn stash has either been destroyed or was buried too deep for us to get to it today. I was not upset over missing those boxes, knowing both I and my brother have handled them on previous moves.

Where I feel icky is not just because of the dirty objects we handled. No it was more because I was helping such a hateful, abusive hypocrite.

To my father’s friends he’s such a good ol’ boy. He goes to church and masquerades as a good Christian. They don’t know the addictions and porn and cross dressing. They don’t know about his extramarital affairs or the racism. I know these things and his hypocrisy, and yet I am still helping him.

All the decades of damage he did to everyone in our family with abusive behavior, and I’m helping him. I’d rather see him check out and learn the ultimate lesson.

I’m glad this was my last icky endeavor on his behalf. Another week and I will no longer be responsible for him.

I am not perfect. I have lived an open marriage. I have experienced more than a few taboo things and the world of porn. I have a wicked temper, and I’m not proud of moments where my temper won. I too struggle with addictions.

Where I am different from my father is that I aim for polyamory, a committed consentual plural marriage. I aim for conquering my addictions. I aim to tame my temper and I constantly strive to master my emotions and control my mental function. And I do my level best to always accept others on their journey, and refuse to join in mockery involving appearance. People deserve to be accepted regardless of gender identification, sexual preferences, or any other qualification. You will never hear me pass myself as better than anyone or more virtuous, in fact I gave myself a tattoo to remind me to try and do better. I only rant on others when they disrespect me or hurt in me some way, I respect myself enough to refuse to tolerate that. I strive to do better in whatever that means at the time. So no I’m not perfect, but I’m not my abusive hypocritical disgusting father either.

Perspective is helpful, but sometimes the journey there is just gross.

At this point we won’t get home until midnight or after, and despite really wanting a shower, I suspect I’ll fall over and have to wait until morning to feel clean again.

May you have good experiences with loving parents. May you understand difficult stations. May you have understanding and compassion even when someone hasn’t earned it. May you know eventually everything becomes clear. May you know why you experience the difficult things. May you see positive perspective in less icky ways. May you generally have clean experiences on multiple levels. May you enjoy life more than not. May you fully understand how everything provides clarity for your own life and your own progress.

Siva Hir Su