Have you ever slept in a dumpster? That’s how I feel this morning, disoriented, uncouth, some neck pains, two days without a shower, a partly cloudy disposition. Reasons for this discombobulation are too unsavory and personal for me to feel comfort posting them to the Internet masses, so instead I’ll talk about my bladder.

But before we hike through my nether regions, I’ll instestinize about the context, a laser light show last evening featuring music from Radiohead. The light show was fantastic, the music not so much. I’ve never understood why Radiohead is so critically acclaimed. To me they sound whiny and muddled, like jazz without the fun and soul.

Anywho, I prepared a womb of blankets on the laser dome floor, laid down in comfort, chomped on chocolate and sipped mint flavored water, and then the music and colored light extravaganza slipped inside my brain and massaged and tickled my skull from the inside. It was lovely, lovely, lovely, until…

…about a third of a way into the show I felt an extreme need to urinate like a racehorse (do racehorses pee more than non-racehorses?). Peeing was all I could think about:

  • I have a minuscule bladder and I know of other people who do as well. This is an odd thing to know about someone, and I feel judged because of it. When someone is peeing next to me and takes three times as long as me, spraying at supersoaker full blast, I do feel jealousy.
  • Why when sometimes when I NEED to pee so bad it burns there isn’t that much urine that comes out, when other time it doesn’t hurt at all and I could fill up your bathtub?
  • A reoccurring fear I have is if somehow my pee-hole got super-glued shut and I just can’t pee. And then my interior implodes and explodes and the world is a gross and painful mess.