Sunday, July 17, 2022

Scolding Turds or Something- I Tend to Ramble About Shit, and I Think One of My Neighbors is Being Abused Regularly

 From my bed and with the door opened just so, I can watch at night every time one of the aids slips into the room across the hall from mine and then back out approximately fifteen minutes later.  I'm sure he thinks the nighttime trysts go unnoticed, though I'm also sure he likely wouldn't give a shit that one of his charges knew what he was up to, but that's all for another time.  

I'm dealing with a gastro-whatever-the-fuck issue at the moment, on top of everything else (or, more directly, what put me here in the first place- again, another time), and the daytime pain, cramps and bloated sensation are replaced at night with the ability to actually feel my shit- or the stuff that'll become my shit- sliding its eventual way towards daylight. 

The cold, hard plastic seat slides to one side as I plant my cheeks firmly, and I'm reminded that I've yet to let anyone who might give a fuck know that one of the seat bolts has snapped off.  I know they have a maintenance "team" here, though I've never actually seen anything being repaired and it seems more and more each day that anything falling into disrepair here shall remain so for eternity.

I'm usually pretty regular on my own, thanks, though I'm certain we're all given daily laxatives in some of the bland heaps of garbage that arrive in front of us three times a day, and almost as soon as I'm seated my shit slides right out of me, jetting into the bowl with great shit-determination.  



  1. You certainly painted a picture, balanced. I am trying to figure out where the line is between fiction and non-fiction. Also, good to hear from you again and hope you are just making up stories and not shitting on a broken cold plastic seat.