at the moment i am bound over. there has been no bowel movement for awhile. just for an added twist i seem to have a tummy rumble that is most often associated with the squits. it means that i have the urge to poo. i rush to the toilet. i sit in the hope to shit. i sit. i sit. i sit. no shit.
luckily for me i quite like reading on the throne – even in the deep cold of the winter.
so i sit. sit and read. read and sit. no shit.
the graphic novel i was reading was ok.
what was that? a movement? a ripple? breathe, breathe. give it a push. puuuush. puuuush. a veil of red covers my eyes, muscles in my jaws quivering, veins in my forehead bulging. puuuush. puuuush. nothing happening.
now what? legs have gone dead. trapped on the bog.
if i die now i would be like elvis presley.
twenty minutes later i give up the ghost.
still bound over, but hoping for the inevitable eruption.