Memoirs of a Diarrhetic

(Originally scribed on toilet paper. Must remember to put a notebook in the can. Or check and see if the toilet has a voice recorder already installed (likely))

When you’ve got diarrhea, you are desperate. I don’t mean desperate like a person desperate to get Garth Brooks tickets or a guy who’s desperate to see a real-life naked woman. I’m talking huddled-up shade of former self, guy from end of The Crying Game desperate. Diarrhea is humankind at its lowest.

What does one do during diarrhea, other than expel unwelcome components from the nether regions of one’s being? Only certain things are suitable. It is no time for fun and games. No attempts to muffle the agony with nonchalant acts of leisure shall be tolerated by the body. Handheld amusements lose their fun. The words fall out of books and crawl about like spiders. Do not attempt to engage your “PSP”, “DS”, or other acronyms. During my first bout two days ago, I tried to read a horror manga, one of the few objects within reach in that instant before dashing for sanctuary. Horror is only an enjoyable pursuit when one has an expendable bounty of confidence in one’s safety. Horror during diarrhea is one of Webster’s definitions for “Hell”.

Hell – Noun. Horror during diarrhea. Hank is in Hell.

Some pray, even the unreligious in some cases. Others weep and tear at their hair (not I, obviously), cursing the threads of fate. “Why hast such malady befallen me this day?!” they bellow in vain. Others reflect on the whole of their lives, on the cosmic alignment of factors that have amassed over the decades only to produce this trauma. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have intentionally stomped on Meghan’s McKnight’s hand in kindergarten when she was sitting on the floor.” Deeply hidden memories resurface. Surely this is God’s doing.

God or someone else also force a song into my head. Glen Hansard sings, “You have broken me all the way down” and once again his words are an exact expression of how I feel. Curse your golden pipes, Glen Hansard. And curse your superhuman wisdom.

It ends as surely as it began, but is followed by such an immediate lack of discomfort that it almost feels like denial. And thus I have kept log of it here, so that none may forget: this happened.

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