So, it’s been a while, but I’ve been dealing with shit. Literally.
I think if I was to chronicle during my absence here, it would sound something like this:
It has been three days since my last bowel movement. Something is sure to come out today, but if not, I will have no option but to resort to more coffee drinking. Excrement, I humbly await your arrival.
I had my first morning poop after my coffee in several days. Too bad it had to happen during my downward facing dog. My powers of closing my sphincter are all too strong, so I luckily made it to the toilet. I just feel bad for the poor bastard who had to use the bathroom after me.
It has again been three days since I had my morning after-coffee poo. What kind of hell is this?
I once again proceeded to eat my weight in marinated and Greek olives. I find when I don’t take the time to chew them enough, I get little bits of olive skins in my feces. At least they don’t remain whole as in, oh, say, corn or peas. I gave those bastards up years ago.
Had the loveliest dinner and CHEESE was all around and the CHEESE topping the meat, atop the CHEESY pasta, and everyone else is having CHEESE with their wine saying isn’t this the most lovely CHEESE and let me drown my sorrows and obvious inability to make a coherent (CHEESE) sentence in this cocktail, by which I mean straight up bourbon.
Am I on my period or did I have too much salt, because there’s blood in the toilet…
In awe because my poop actually had some structure, so I felt it coming out. Should have taken a picture to show you.
I give in. I ate cheese, truffle oil, ice cream and creme fraiche all in one night. Oh, and a bottle of wine. Take that, stomach lining. How you like me now, bitch?
So it turns out my splurge last night ended in some slight gassyness and a successful morning poo with minimal pain. IBS, you are a fickle bitch.