Too Much Information?

Donna was up first this morning.  I usually feel guilty about this, and today was really no exception.  As my medication is tapering down, my fatigue seems to be returning.  So far it hasn’t manifested itself as dramatically as a year or two ago, when I regularly found myself exhausted in the afternoon and required rests and naps.  Still, I’m sleeping more than my fair share.

Of course, none of this had anything to do with the fact that I came home late(ish) from Judo, ate/eight slices of garlic bread, polished off a bowl of cold chili con carne, and washed it down with two whiskey and sodas.  In hindsight, I think I should have had some water to drink in between.  When I go to Judo, I tend to stop drinking mid to late afternoon so I don’t have to go pee while training.  By the time I return home, I’m likely already dehydrated, and mixing my water with alcohol probably does little to alleviate my symptoms.

In any case, my sleep was a bit disturbed for the first few hours.  I woke with a bit of a head-head, and realized that I was on top of the sheets and still in my “comfy” clothes.  Donna was dozing peacefully beside me.

I shucked my track pants and sweat shirt, crawled under the covers and fluffed my pillow.  Next I put on a podcast of politicians talking about climate change initiatives, which ensured I fell back to sleep quickly.

As I said, even though I had fallen asleep before Donna, it was her who got up and set the fire this morning.  I wandered out and tried to make myself useful, but to no avail, she was already on the case and had prepared herself for work in the city while I was still in my bathrobe.

I sat down with my puffer, pills and a glass of water as the sound of the car departing faded out, and the sounds of “The Diamond Minecart” and “Stampy Longnose” faded in from Kenny on the iPad.

A strong black tea soon got my plumbing churning right proper, and I dropped my trousers as I headed in to a relaxing session on the thunderbox.  Of course, at that moment, Kenny hopped up and declared his intention to use the bathroom.

Graciously I pulled up my pants and gave him dibs.  Kenny seems to have developed a habit of doing his main business in the late afternoon – generally right after I change out the bucket for a nice, fresh one.

He was out in under a minute, dutifully washing his hands, and adding sanitizer for good measure.

This time I slid the door shut, and settled down to check my progress in online Scrabble with my cellphone.

Awesome!  My friend B! had failed to surpass yesterday’s play of “PORTEND” for 88 points!  What…  Foreshadowing.

I scanned my letters, leaning far forward, almost onto my knees.  Of course, we all now know that this is better for your innards anyway – if you can’t set up a “squatty potty” – then don’t sit as if you were at a desk, try to get your knees to your chest, or as Mohammed would suggest as a viable alternative, get your chest to your knees.

Spoiling my own sweet smell of success, I found myself with a glut of vowels…  STEEL…  STEAL…  SETTLE…  UNSETTLE…  Nothing was coming to me, until the scales fell from my eyes and the obviousness of the letters and situation came to me as if I was on the road to Damascus.  “NAUSEATE” – 50 more points to crush B!’s spirit (hopefully…)  I won’t go into how fitting that word was.

The joy of the play coincided with me finishing up, and I rose and completed the paperwork for the mission.  As always, we cover up with a few refreshing scoops of sawdust.  As I finished “leaving no trace”, I froze.  Had this been PORTENDED?

There sitting proudly – a brown, misshapen oval rested in the space between the toilet seat, the wall, and the sawdust bucket.

My mind simply couldn’t process the vulgarity of the situation.  I gaped.  I was – wait for it – NAUSEATED.

I won’t suggest that I ruled out myself having produced it, based on its appearance.  In fact, to my credit, I first tried to internally work out the physics involved.  After all I *had* been leaning quite far forward in my excitement of the chance to render B! especially lugubrious, what with me clearing my rack (ahem) twice in quick succession.

I discounted Donna completely, but allowed myself to wonder if Kenny could have managed to create this situation.  Regardless, without a “steaming gun” to point at anyone besides myself, I knew I was going to have to deal with it.

In spite of having a young son, having been out of diapers for over half a decade – as well as the fact that I dumped out a bucket containing many similar treasures nearly daily – I was stumped and a little grossed out about contemplating what my next action should be.

And so, I continued to stare.

Finally, after a number of deep, calming breaths, I unrolled a length of squares of toilet tissue and folded them back and forth neatly upon themselves until I had a package that was thick enough to protect my delicate fingers – and sensibilities.

I poked the offensive little thing gently and then finally, carefully, wrapped the tissue around it and lifted it from its cozy nook.

The heft of it was even more disturbing as it had a profoundly substantial consistency.  If it was truly one of mine (and at this point, I felt it best to keep the whole incident on the down-low…  Who wants to bring up a situation like this when it may involve admitting that they literally can’t hit the ground under them with such a seemingly easy to aim object).  Whomever of us had produced this particular object really, really needed to get some roughage.

And that’s when it dawned on me.

In future, I was going to have to convince Donna that if she literally finds the odd rock mixed in with the sawdust, she shouldn’t just leave it on the seat for others to find.

Then again, maybe it was a coprolite and I had reason to be squeamish?

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