POOP OR NOT TO POOP - that is the question

          When I woke up this morning, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, crawled out of bed and then pulled the curtains open and looked outside, although the sky was a vivid blue and the sun was shining brightly, I could tell it was going to be one of those days when most likely, I should have just pulled the covers up over my head and drifted back to the turmoil within my troubled dreams.

          These days, I feel like I have an anchor around my neck keeping me down and although I'm still above ground, I feel older than water and fart bubbles, big gooey bubbles. I'm surprised that when I look behind me, like a giant snail, I haven't left a trail of slime. Now you might think I'm making this up, crapping slime, but it's true. Not sure why this is happening, perhaps I'm not feeling well or it's possibly stress related because living on the precarious edge of life with little or no future ahead is more than a little intimidating, I can tell you. Also, going to sleep, wondering if I'll wake up in the morning is occasionally on my mind. However, I have to admit, despite not having a normal arse-hole and normal poops, some of my droppings are very creative, even an art form if I may be so bold.

          I don't know how many people document their odorous,  stinky, pinch your nose tight, piles of crap but I do. It's too bad shit isn't money because it's not uncommon for me to make several very large deposits a day. However, all my deposits are not large, sometimes I'll blast out a pellet about the size of the end of my thumb and am often surprised I haven't blown a hole in the toilet or cracked the porcelain throne - believe me - I'm the king of shit! Other times, like a couple of days ago, if I'd been standing up, the length of the coil circling my grunting body would have mummified me, which would be great if I was an Egyptian Pharaoh about to be sealed in a pyramid. And that my friends is an ongoing problem. Since I don't really have a proper rectum, my plumbing consisting of a drain only, when my intestines start emptying, they sometimes don't stop until there is nothing left inside me - hence, shortly after, the clear slime appears, which oddly enough has no odor - trust me, I've held it a whisker away from my nose for closer observation and sniffed its magnificence - ewww.

            Besides documenting my repugnant, smelly deposits on a daily bases, trying to find a pattern for some sort of normalcy in that department, I've been hoping to solve this ongoing problem so that I can plan for occasions, which are necessary for me to attend. Take for instance my recent flights to and from Nanaimo. If I could somehow come up with a remedy for that particular time, which would make them slime days, there wouldn't be enough coming out of me to fill my diaper. Luckily for me, the flights didn't happen to be a clear-out-my-intestines-days, which could have been a huge problem. Imagine me gritting my teeth, squirming about in my seat, my body racked with painful cramps while trying to clench the cheeks of my ass tightly, knowing that in the end it's a futile endeavour.  Like a long skinny snake it begins uncoiling, at first filling the diaper and then up my back, peering over my seat staring at the passenger sitting directly behind me who is quivering in shock and screaming hysterically for the stewardess to bring him an antidote for an oncoming cobra strike. Before long, all the terrified passengers are yelling for parachutes to abandon the plane, as my giant anaconda, which is more enormous than its Amazon cousin begins slithering down the aisle. You may be chuckling as you read these words but I received calls from people who wanted to know which flights I'd be on. But enough about crap, who wants to read about crap and then again, crap is the circle of life...cheers, eh!