I Am Your Irritable Bowel And I Will Not Be Ignored!

I know you’re trying to pretend I don’t exist but that subtle release of air coming from your nether regions is me trying to give you an early warning signal that I am, once again, irritated.
Consider it my way of signaling my exasperation; A sign of the coming ‘Crapture,’ if you will.
If you’ve learned anything from these past several years of our acquaintance, and it appears you haven’t, you ignore me at your own peril.

I’m trying to get your attention with that bloating and gassiness! Do you think I like distending your stomach? Believe me, I’ve tried everything but, apparently, I’m just a solid number two to your denial. And a solid number two is something you haven’t had in several months!
I don’t think I ask for much; A balanced diet, for one. Flaming hot Cheetos? Sriracha sauce? Dairy? Gluten? Fried foods? What are we, twenty? Those days are over, my friend. All over the bathroom, if you’re not paying attention to me.

We ought to be doing a better job of communicating. And yet your brain has a mind of its own. It seems to be saying ‘Let’s have another round and see what happens!’ Sure, another piña colada is going to loosen you up a bit; make you a little more fun to be around. But you know what else is going to loosen up? Your stools!

I suppose now you’re going to tell me that you’ve been stressed out lately. Well how the hell do you think that makes me feel? Irritable, that’s how! You think I like having an adrenalin dump to deal with? And dumping is what I’m going to do. Just when you least expect it, which should scare you. A lot. That’s where the term ‘scared shitless’ comes from, in case you were wondering.

I’m trying to work with you here. When you have a bad day, so do I. Lack of sleep, hormonal imbalance, greasy foods, depression; No wonder I’m irritable! Do I get so irritable that I sometimes lose control? Yes. All over you.

I’ll never tell you when I’m going to go ‘apooplectic.’ Could be during a meeting, a presentation, in the aisle of the grocery store, on an airplane or during your performance review with your boss. But, suddenly, there I’ll be, forcing you to duck-waddle in search of the nearest bathroom while you’re praying you get there before the coming ‘apoocalypse.’
You need to pay attention to me! I’m a real life functioning part of your anatomy. I have goals and dreams just like anyone else. I want to run a smooth operation; See the fruit of your digestive system launched from one pipeline into the great waterways of life. But like any real-life functioning part of your anatomy, I react to my environment. And what sort of environment are you creating for me? A toxic one!

Sure, your doctor called me a syndrome. That’s his way of saying I’m too complicated for him to deal with. According to him I’m all in your head which means he thinks you have shit for brains. I’m not sure what medical school lets students graduate who confuse an asshole with a brain, but it’s not a good one. I’d take a fast pass on your doctor like I fast passed last night’s dinner of Thai curry.

So am I going to be irritable forever? Hold you hostage to my demands? That depends on you. And Depends® are what you should be thinking about, frankly, if you’re going to insist on that Venti latte macchiato every morning. I know you like that strong caffeine boost, but you know what puts the ‘dung’ in dungarees? Caffeine!

I may be the Rodney Dangerfield of body parts– no respect and the butt of every joke, if you will. But let’s remember that little parable about who is the most important part of the body. That one about all the body parts flexing their muscles or ceasing to function to see who’s in charge? That’s right, it’s me. I’m the boss. And, as you already know, every boss is an asshole.

Nancy Franklin writes about life’s absurdities wherever and whenever she finds them. She has been published in The Daily Drunk Magazine, Slackjaw, The Belladonna and Points In Case. Follow her on Twitter, @mirthquakes_, or visit her website at www.mirthquakes.com.

Categories: Open Letters

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Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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