Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Non-Narcotics Induced Poop

Today is the day I go cold turkey. I’m off the narcotic painkillers in a grand attempt to be able to poop. You’ve heard me talking about pooping on here before, like the time I almost crapped my pants while walking into work or how the 2007 ECE bathroom smelled like a port-a-pot next to a burrito stand at the end of a weekend-long concert that took place in August in the desert. This time, it’s personal (okay, it’s been personal before too, but that just sounded right to type).

Over the course of 10 days, I’ve pooped twice. Once was no more than a McNugget, totally unsatisfying (much like its McDonald-land counterpart), and the other was a horrifying culmination of 5 servings of Metamucil the day before, 2 coffees at breakfast, and an enthusiastic 1.5 mile run that didn’t end well, and that I refuse to talk about in public. I could really use a poop.

What’s worse, it seems that what once was daily fodder for workplace complaints is now making me jealous. Everyone here must be regular, because by 9am the ladies room and the handicapped bathroom have both been blown up. A girl can only dream.

This weekend I watched a special on John Waters and the making of Pink Flamingos on IFC and found myself getting a bit sad when they were describing what they needed to do to get the goods for the final scene (where Divine eats dog shit). I could sympathize with that dog who couldn’t poop, however the idea of getting a home-made enema with a hair-dye bottle sounds somewhat worse than the not pooping at all. And so my mind dips into the depths of hell, thinking about what is worse than not pooping and what is better…

My stomach’s distended, I feel nauseated a lot, and I’m wonder where on earth it’s all going. So, at this point I’ll endure a little more pain (in the shoulder) if that means I can poop.

I just finished eating Chipotle for lunch, and I’m crossing my fingers.

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