I know you don't poop and I'm really jealous of that, but I needed a moment to talk about it. I wrote a long post about my workplace restroom situation, where we are purposefully dissuaded from shitting without shame. Seeking therapeutic introspection, I detailed my history of public restroom shyness, which delved into my familial bowel movement history, including a funny, karmic truck stop bathroom incident, and culminated with almost telling the most embarrassing thing that's ever, ever, ever happened to me and maybe anyone -- at least I hope that was it. Please allow that I've already crossed that threshold, or I don't know how I could possibly handle living through anything more embarrassing. It happened almost ten years ago and I still shout out, "You are so stupid! You are so stupid! Ugh! I hate you. I hate you. I hate you so much! You should just die," whenever that memory parades itself through my mind, mockingly. If you ever catch me saying disparaging words out loud to seemingly no one, it's just my impulsive reaction to the ghosts of moments past making an appearance in my brain. If I happen to catch you catch me talking to myself, that too will wind up haunting me for years. It's a never ending cycle of self loathing. Keeps me humble.

Where was I? Oh, yes. My shitty blog post. It was a thrilling read. I'm sorry to disappoint, but it's one for my book. Look for it in 3013 or thereabouts when my descendants dig up my unedited manuscript -- archaeologist will be digging on the Internet then, I imagine. And I suppose my descendants will be archaeologists, because that's a convenient story. And by that time humanity will have erased the degrading need to poop, so my stories will serve as triumphant tales of 'how far we've come!'