Thoughts

Hard to Handle

Hard to Handle

Think it might really be time for me to change my million years email address. Explaining “pr.incest” to the uninitiated is persistently problematic and even at times kind of difficultly twisted. The inside joke and backstory to the handle has for the most part never truly been got, and attempting to capsule summary everything isn’t a straightforward situation when for example I am suddenly asked for my email address by a bright-voiced and unsuspecting office secretary over the telephone. Saying the made up word “pr.incest” proves itself typically awkward, especially as I usually have to say it twice. Normally I just spell the word out, “P” “R” “DOT” “I” “N” “C” et cetera and always I can tell that the person at the end of the line isn’t sure they heard me right as the word “incest” fully manifests. I never actually say the word and the brave person I’m valiantly conversing with never does either, we both just calmly spell the murderous and pestiferous thing out back to each other. Then there’s this weird unspoken moment where “incest” hangs luridly in the air. The conversation formerly courteous and carefree is now uncomfortably clouded by a jarring redirection toward contemplation of a widely condemned social sexual taboo. Christ. How do I get myself into these things. Saying goodbye to the name might be a bit sad but it’s also likely high time. Life after all is fluidity and change. Plus I will not miss the tangled debauchery I periodically receive in my inbox from random international middle-aged men across the wide wild world hoping with absurd and poorly articulated interest to somehow score a little bit of that super sweet incest. Shoulda known incorporating “incest” into anything would turn up more grief than glee, but spelling and explaining “Chrystal Mess” and “platypussy” also likely won’t make my life any more easy. Hindsighting as always, even before the facts. Jeez.

Standard