HA! You thought you'd lost me...

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I suck. I haven't blogged in ages. I've heard the wailing and gnashing of teeth over my absence (just because I live in a magical little land where everyone waits with baited breath over each tiny thought I might be kind enough to share with the world. So I have some ego problems, get over it.) and have decided to please my adoring fans with a little poop talk. (Yes, this is for you Julie.)

It's possible that poop stories are only good when they're about kids, or about someone else. There's a great chance that self-disclosure in the realm of number two is a blogger's suicide. These are risks I'm willing to take. I figure it's the least I can do.

I've neglected writing for the past little while because I've felt like everything I write is "my womb sucks!" or "blahblahblah period." I tried to up the excitement ante with a little recipe madness (oooh. aaah.) but, really, the only interesting things that have been happening to me lately have been in relation to my body, and generally relegated to my bottom (ha!) half.

So, in a moment of respite for you, dear readers, I change my tune from the woes of my menses to the challenges of my bowels.

For a month now I have been eating "clean." This means no sugar, wheat, dairy, anything processed...basically anything delicious. I have had more vegetables in the past month than the last four years combined. Ever tried broccolini? I have. It is ass. Kale? yup, see broccolini. I have discovered the wonders of the sweet potato, however, and occasionally indulge myself with some good old-fashioned butternut squash. A real party. This is mixed with a disgusting blend of herbs and tinctures all in attempts to make this garden grow (if you would). The point of all this is to lead you to the inevitable assumption that my, ahem, b.m.s have been nothing if not regular. Like clockwork, I am. Unfortunately, that clock's alarm usually rings about an hour into my work day. I'm not comfortable with it, but alas, it is my fate.

All of this I say to you that you might sympathize with my strife. Every, EVERY time I come to Colorado I get, shall we say, stuck. I thought that my eating habits and massive water consumption might keep me from this problem, but no. Stuck. I go to the bathroom probably once an hour in the mere hope that I might be able to get rid of some of this pressure, and I sit, and I wait. Nothing. Not even the littlest of poops.

There is nothing I hate worse than being consto. I would rather have the Tijuana trots or anything of the like than being stuffed up. It hurts, and I feel like I weigh a million pounds. The lower gut bloats and you feel like you can't eat anything without choking. Yeah, I hate it.

That being said, after an airplane ride tomorrow, and getting back on the treadmill, I'm really hoping that I can get back to normal. Okay. Yeah, I just wrote a blog about poop. My poop. Imagine me with kids.