Holy Mackerel

As you read this, I am in my first class at college, looking very out-of-place and rather nervous as I look around the room and notice that I could be anyone's grandmother. Update: OK, maybe I was a tad too quick with that last statement, because as I was getting ready to go to my first class (gym/fitness), my bowels exploded and I ended up sitting on the toilet for more than half the class. To which, Mr. Handsome would reply, "Typical." And he'd be right. So much for my fitness class. Well, at least my bowels are in shape. I think. The rest of my first day was a little less eventful, shall we say? I had Psychopathology, which is right up my alley (I could have written the text, yo), and then I had Anatomy & Physiology, which is just another way of saying the class looks and examines the naked body. Again, right up my alley. And guys, I won a prize! Why? Because I am the definition of awesome, that's why. Actually, it's because we had this really odd...

Well, I'm slowly getting ready for Florida. Slowly, I say, because that accurately describes the speed by which I am preparing my family for this trip. I can't seem to move any faster, no matter what I do. The tortoise passed me long ago this time around, I'm afraid. The other day, I had full intentions of getting up, having a quick coffee, and getting to work, as in gather up all the clothing needed for our trip, pull out suitcases, make lists, buy medication. You know the drill. Because, guys! We leave for Florida next Wednesday, and as I keep reminding myself, I AM FULLY RESPONSIBLE FOR GETTING THIS ENTIRE FAMILY READY. Which is just not my style. I mean, that's why I got married and had kids, so that I'd have people who could do the work FOR me. Instead, I lay on the couch all day long popping extra strength Tylenols, codeine and Gravol because I had woken up with yet another god-forsaken migraine that just would not budge. My head felt like a homely constructio...

My butt has a brain. And thoughts. And opinions, apparently. Because ever since the doctor gave me the orders to get my poop tested, my butt has refused to give up the goods. It's been six days now, folks! SIX POOPLESS days, after eight tiring WEEKS of nothing BUT poop after poop after -- you guessed it -- poop. There can be NO OTHER EXCUSE but that my badonkadonk has a mind all its own, and a sense of dignity to boot! When it gazed upon the three containers I am supposed to "fill" and return, it did an about-face and ran the other way. And although I can't say I haven't enjoyed the freedom and respite from constantly having to run to the toilet, I'm just trying to wrap my head around this whole thing. How in heaven's name can I go from 20 and more dingleberries per day to none? Just like that? And everyday, I think, 'OK, today's the day. Today, I will be disgusting and poop in little wee containers and bring them to the lab and be all embarrassed...

It's been a week since I last posted anything about my amazingly exciting life, and for that, I apologize profusely. I've been so crazy busy, though, that I'm surprised I'm still thinking straight. Okay, I lied. I haven't been busy at all. Not really, anyway. Unless, of course, you consider sitting on the toilet for 16 out of 24 hours every day busy, moaning as your insides are no longer inside. That awful noise you heard the other night that woke you out of your wonderfully deep sleep? Yeah, that was me. On the toilet. I'm STILL sick, and I'm sick and tired of being sick...and tired. I finally got in to see my doctor, and told him I've had this stomach thing going on four weeks now, and isn't enough enough when it comes to diarrhea? And you know what? He agreed. There is, in fact, a stomach virus making the rounds in the nation's capital, but four weeks is still an awfully long time. He told me to take some Imodium to try and settle things down...