Yup. More poop talk. You’ve been warned.
After a couple of weeks of fairly normal poops, I am back to nothing solid coming out of me at all.
What makes it worse is that it all kicked off with another bout of sleep incontinence. On Wednesday night, I ordered from Poke Okey for the first time in a while, and ate my custom bowl of good stuff way too fast, and that led to my first spending a bad time in the bathroom and then, when that left me totally pooped (sic), I (possibly unwisely) went to sleep, and woke up with the usual fecal mess exactly where my butt was pointed.
If it had been a crime, it would be a very easy solve.
Clearly, my butt did it.
So I had to go through a whole bunch of Kleenex cleaning it up. At least I am still capable of cleaning it up on my own.
If, like when I was in the hospital, I had to let someone else see the mess I made, I would die on the inside of acute impacted embarrassment.
The emotions tied to our toilet training are always extremely strong. Where to poop and how to go about it is arguably the first thing we ever learn, and the social programming encoded therein is foundational to everything we learn about manners afterwards.
Freud got that right, at least.
And don’t stop me if you’ve heard this before, but I know that these little outbreaks of sleep pooping are supposed to trigger my going to the frigging ER, or Urgent Care.
But the sad and brutal truth is that I know it will go away if I ignore it, and therefore that’s what I do.
That’s all kinds of wrong, and yet, here we are.
I guess there would have to be some kind of terrifying escalation for me to take it to the ER or the UC now. Like it happening while I am awake.
Speaking of which, I had a fun period yesterday where I had to go poop every half hour or so for three or four hours.
That’s how long it took me to remember that I actually know how to stop that kind of thing. It involves carefully resisting the urge to go poop once I am empty enough to make that safe-ish and thus interrupting the self-triggering cycle of it all.
And luckily, that worked. Got things under control. Had a few tense moments but ultimately my system calmed down enough to behave itself.
And today was okay until the pooping time came and then it was diarrhea all over again, and that is never fun.
Like I have mentioned before, those attacks can really take it out of you. Anything involving your bowels spasming drains you of a lot more than feces because your bowels are very large muscles so when they are in an uproar you have some of the biggest muscles in your body doing acrobatics and that is very tiring.
Not to mention it also depletes you nutritionally, both from the rapid loss of fluids fucking up your electrolytes and from the localized burning of a LOT of calories.
It always comes back to science with me, doesn’t it?
Anyhow, that is the latest in the Chronicles of Fru’s Butthole for now. I will, of course, be monitoring the situation in case things get worse.
Hopefully things will calm down for a while so I can forget this whole messy incident.
My life is so weird. And gross.
More after the break.
Oh yeah, the microwave
Microwave is working again. Luckily, last night, I had the clever idea that maybe the problem was a tripped circuit breaker, and sure enough, when Julian flipped the breaker for that circuit on and off, it came back to life.
And that makes me feel gosh darn clever. There I was thinking we would have to buy a whole new microwave and instead the solve was as easy as turning on a light.
It did expose me to the fact that the microwave ovens of today are amazingly cool, and can function as microwaves AND air fryers AND convection ovens AND steamers AND a bunch of other things!
I must admit, my consumer lust for those things is intense.
The ice falls apart as it melts
Just a random image expressing… something in my mind.
Not going to try to turn it into a poem this time. I’ve learned my lesson. My poetic impulses can stay in prose now.
I mean, it didn’t take long for that last poem thing to turn from self-expression into work. I stopped trying to write it when I realized I was just coming up with cheaper and cheaper rhymes solely because I didn’t know how to end the damned thing.
So no more of that. When I run out of inspiration, it’s over, and I don’t care if that means it stops right in the middle of a.
I suppose that if I continue to try to express my deeper images, they will become more detailed and complete over time.
That’s how it worked with my writing in general. I would start just typing whatever popped into my head and before long I went from disconnected words and images to full sentences to entire concepts to a whole detailed essay that just… flowed out of me.
But I was too locked into my logic cage to be able to handle and harness something like that so I just…. stopped.
We never truly stop being stupid.
We just get better at it,
Well, now that I am far more willing to delve into that deep and mysterious and incredibly powerful part of me of that lurks in the shadows of my subconscious mind, perhaps I will learn to tap into these dark forces and use their power.
All it takes is the courage to pick up my magic wand, and use it.
I’ve been scared of my own power long enough.
Time to get some shit done.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.