Horrid Little Girl

I’ve felt a little untethered all summer.  I don’t do well without structure.  I tend to stay up later and later, sleep in earlier, be lazy.  I’m really not one of those people who come alive in the summer, I much prefer the cooler autumn.  I can never have that usual weather conversation with strangers praising the sun because I always give the wrong answers.  Lucky for me, summer is almost over. 

I’ve been going in to work, trying to get organized.  Catching up on the gossip with everyone.  I can’t get anything done, because each task I attempt turns into 5, with a few conversation pit stops along the way.  But its ok, I feel energized as soon as I walk in there.  Sometimes that place feels more like home than home does.  I’m starting to get excited about new projects, new ideas.  I like that I’m not the new girl anymore.  I’m still nervous, but I’m just a nervous Nelly in general.  I’ve come to accept that fact about myself. 

I’m not sure if I got drunk or not at the party.  I didn’t eat all day, and I was drinking Mike’s Hard Lemonade.  After 2, I started feeling very wrong.  I just wanted to sit down.  This has happend to me before when I drank Margaritas quickly on an empty stomach.  I don’t know if the sugar from those drinks just dumps into my system too fast or what, but it sucks.  I was talking to my boss at the time, and was trying very hard to play it cool.  I waited for a lull in conversation, made my way to the table, and started scarfing down food.  A few minutes later I felt great.  I think I’ll stick to beer from now on.

My friend’s new house looked great, I love her taste in furniture, etc.  There was yummy food, and funny people.  It took me a while to warm up though, you know- big socially inept loser that I am, but once I did, I had fun.  The bruschetta was a good choice because I had to be in the kitchen preparing it instead of just standing around looking like a dork.  That’s my shy person tip for the day: When attending functions, find a job to do right away to ease yourself into the party atmosphere.  Anything related to the food or beverages works well, selecting the music, hanging up coats, you get the idea.  While I would never recommend smoking to anyone, being part of the smokers is always helpful, too.  I just followed them out for their smoke breaks a few times and chatted away while they forced their cancerous second hand on me.  But it’s all good, I had some nice conversations out in that smoke filled, 103 degreed garage.

It’s pouring.  The weather has been odd the past few days.  Stifling hot, thunderstorm, I never know what to expect when I wake up.  I love the rain.  I love dark, sleepy days.  I will take this over hot humidity any day.

I have a party to go to today.  For a girl from work, who I won’t be working with any more this year.  She’s incredibly sweet and I’ll miss her tremendously.  I just found out that someone else I was close to has moved on to another job as well.  This sucks.  I wish I could keep all my favorites close to me.  One other person is leaving as well, but this one is a relief.  My life will be much smoother as a result of that job change.  On the other hand, I am going to be working with some new people who scare me.  The queen bees, the catty gossips, the back stabbers.  I am seriously scared about that.  Sometimes I wish every day would be exactly the same predictable situation.  Of course, if it was I’d grow bored and get a new job. 

So I’m excited about the party.  Excited and nervous.  You know I don’t do well in a crowd.  I have to think up a cool appetizer or something to bring.  I might just wimp out and slice a watermelon.  And I have no idea what to wear.  I feel fat in everything.  And I should do my toes, the polish is chipping.  I should probably make a list.

I got my hair cut last week.  The girl who did it has cut it at least twice before.  She didn’t remember me this time. 

I met my friend’s husband almost 10 years ago.  I see him approximately once a year.  Every time he sees me he says the same thing.  “I didnt even recognize, you look different every time I see you!”  Then he laughs, and his wife laughs, and everyone is just laughing laughing laughing.

Here’s the thing though.  I don’t look different every time.  Sure I’ve had a bunch of different hairdos and have lost then gained it all back because I’m a big fatass and gained some weight.  But that’s it.  No radical changes, no plastic surgery.  The same face, the same teeth in the same smile.  What I think happens is that he just doesn’t bother to really look at me.  I’m not worth remembering to him, just like I’m not worth remembering to that hairdresser.  Most times I like being invisible- it does have its advantages, but every once in a while I’d like to be unforgettable. 

This weekend I had the most painful pooping experience of my entire life.  I think I almost died.

I’m kind of a private pooper.  My bowels get a little stage fright and refuse to cooperate unless I’m at home.  But Sunday I had a serious urge with only the public bathroom at the marina available.  Thankfully, no one was in there or else I really would not have been able to do anything.  I sat down and gave a tiny push (I dont usually push, but you know, the whole stage fright thing).  Nothing.  Pushed harder.  Nothing.  Pushed very very hard and still nothing.  Thoroughly disgusted by now, I said fuck it and left.

Walking back to the boat, I felt much more uncomfortable.  It almost felt like the poop was hanging out of my butt. I still felt like I had to go.  I had goosebumps all over my body, and I couldn’t sit down because the poop was Right There. 

I knew I needed to try to go again, so I grabbed my shower stuff and went back.  I didn’t plan on taking a shower, but there were a bunch of old men sitting at the pavillion and I didn’t want them to think I was weird for leaving the bathroom and walking right back to it minutes later.  Because of course they have nothing better to do than discuss some silly girl’s bathroom trips, right?  I brought the shower stuff into the stall with me and got ready to do some pooping.

I tried to relax, because normally it just slides out no problemo.  Didn’t work.  I needed to push and push and push.  When you go through childbirth classes, the teacher tells the men in the class to put two finger in their mouths at opposite ends, fishhook style, and to pull in opposite directions until a burning sensation is felt.  This burning sensation is supposed to be familiar to what a woman feels as the baby’s head emerges.  I don’t remember that burning sensation during childbirth because someone kept screaming ‘oh god it hurts’ and someone else was screaming ‘push dammit’ and there was just so many other things going on that I was distracted.  But, trying to push my poop out of my body I felt this burning painful sensation and realized it was probably similiar.  And then I got scared because I didnt really want stitches in my asshole.

I chose the wheelchair accessible stall, and I was making full use of the handles on each side to grab and squeeze as I pushed.  I still had the goosebumps, but now I was covered in sweat and took my shirt off to lean back onto the cool tile.  The fact that I allowed my bare skin to touch some nasty ass wall that has probably never seen any type of sanitizer shows how far gone I was at that point.

I decided to do a little exploring then.  I felt all around the area.  I could feel that poop, just sitting there under the skin.  I gave a little poke here and there, hoping I could maybe move something along but that did nothing.  Nurses who take care of paralyzed people sometimes have to do this bowel assistance where they stick a finger up the person’s butt and have to try and pull the poop out.  I think I might have done that if I had some gloves.  I actually caught myself looking around the stall for finger like objects to shove up there.  The closest thing I saw was the arm of my sunglasses.  That it actually even entered my mind to put sunglasses up my ass again shows you how fucked up I was.

By this time I was very aware of how long I’d been in there, and alone, which meant that someone would likely be walking in at any second.  I grabbed the bars, leaned back, and pushed like a motherfucker.  I felt the poop come out a little, and then just kind of stop.  Armed with some toilet paper I did a little more exploring and actually felt they little poopball sticking out of my butt.  I oh so gently grabbed it with the toilet paper and plucked it out.  Then I did it again.  And again.  One at a time I plucked hard little raisins, gumballs, and a few tiny meatballs, all the while pushing as hard as I could or else they would slip back inside.  My poor little asshole was in a constant state of pain.  One heroic push later and a big healthy log somehow managed to push all the little poopballs out. 

At this point I collapsed against the wall, shaking and sweating and on the verge of passing out.  I was quite drenched in sweat and made my way to the shower to wash off.  My butt was screaming, so I tried to be very nice and gentle to it. 

I finally walked back to the boat, limping and pale. 

One time I had a UTI.  It hurt to pee.  Every time I sat down to pee I had to mentally overcome some part of me that was trying to avoid the pain and refused to go.  This is what is happening now to my poor bunghole.  I’ve scared it and it is afraid to do anything else to avoid that pain.  I’ve pooped two or three times since that hellish dump and every time I sit down I have to relax and do a little hand holding to get any cooperation.  The mere mention of anal sex makes my butt cheeks clench tightly and goosebumps travel down my arms. 

I went to the store Sunday night and bought a big box of Fiber One cereal.