[Personal, Humor]

Intestinal Distress Journal (auto posted)

Day 5. The lavatory has become a place of great emotional distress. I approach the entrance with much trepidation; akin to the first time a shark attack victim returns to the water, I would think. We're hard-wired for survival, we human animals, and by instinct avoid places of pain or danger. However physically impractical, I've started thinking of ways of rerouting my trip downstairs to avoid any proximity to porcelain. This is going to require a rope ladder thrown from the upstairs bedroom window to the downstairs back porch area. Years of couch research on networks like Discovery and Science Channel come back to me like Army survival training and I see how I might fashion rope out of previously embarrassing cast-off clothes that shrank in the dryer over the past year somehow. Pristine tomes filled with advice on self improvement might finally find themselves useful as a counterweight to an intricate pulley system I envision for lowering my essentials too bulky for climbing; laptop and Costanza wallet.

Day 9. The room has become almost unlivable. It turns out I spent far more time researching Cartoon and Syfy channels than Dicovery and Science. My Wile E. Coyote attempt at a rope ladder and pulley system for my escape was a failure of Rube Goldberg proportions. I now rue the day I purchased that collector's edition anvil from Home Shopping Network. The "incident at the window," as it is now known, somehow managed to catapult my internet router and cellphone over my back porch leaving me without connection to the outside world; and a large bump on my head from the anvil. I am trapped, subsisting on rationed cough drops and Tums from my computer bag, along with the liquid from inside my old college lava lamp.

Day 16. I've programmed the laptop to post my survival journal online if I don't make it, and providing a neighbor's wireless network opens up for just a moment. I've read all of the self improvement books, and though I now understand the intricasies of keeping a mate, losing weight, and organizing my world, there was nothing to help me overcome paralyzing commode fear. On the plus side, the medication I was taking cured any vestiges of intestinal distress. On the minus side, with no storage totes and old copies of Wired magazine left, I am soon to become like an uncivilized animal in the forest; I fear this would void my renter's deposit. With my renewed internal fortitude, and high on menthol flavoring, I am going to attempt escape through the main door.

Tell my family I love them. And not to eat at the new Mexican joint across the street.

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