The folks sent me to Evelyn Woods as prepubescent. Had an affinity for libraries and plowing through books as much as I could. Rather spend all day inside reading during summer break than outside climbing trees. I did climb plenty of trees, fret not. Not much point to childhood if you don't climb a few trees. Evelyn Woods would not succeed in teaching me speed reading. Often is necessary for me to re-read a sentence or paragraph more than twice.

With the various options of same sounding words spelt differently my brain will sometimes select the wrong one. When typing a word I constantly flip two letters around in it, backspace key my savior. I will breeze through a sentence and omit a word. This is the lynch pin in my selection of incorrect answers on quizzes and tests.

Whatever. Fairly idiotic to type in whether instead of weather.

I was noticing in front of the mirror the length of my arm. My hand's destination is just naturally my crotch.

Don't think it's an accident that we can readily grab our genitals. In order to scratch our knees we have to sit down. An arm has to be bent to pick a nose. Basic human construction demands that our fingers spend much groin time twiddling around.

Course not much difference in investigating the asshole. Except for the fact you kinda have to crane and twist your shoulder around to get a decent grip back there. With the frontal tidbits all that is required is a minimal hand shift.

I think we should ease off this penchant to deride others for juggling their uglies in public. The hand knows where it is suppose to be most of the day. Its like asking a rock not to be full of minerals. Or for poop not to stink and steam when plopped down in fresh snow. First step in stress free planet wide serenity is not fighting proper hand to crotch placement.