Do you like my post title?  Did it lure you in with its ambiguity?

I ran today – first run since the 10 mile extravaganza that was Saturday.  It was awesome.  There was just enough sunshine to keep me warm, and except for a brief sleet storm, the weather held.  I found myself taking turns that didn’t lead me back to work, just for the sheer joy of running.  I love those days.  I stretched a lot after, remembering the wonky knee of Saturday, but except for the barest indication of a twinge, I felt great.


I am personally unable to talk about certain bodily functions, so I’m not sure how well this story will translate, but here goes.

I occasionally use the bathroom.  I think most people do.  Sometimes at home, sometimes at work, sometimes at bars.  Although I personally cringe at the thought of anyone knowing that I might utilize the bathroom to perform certain indelicate tasks, and I try to time my visits to make sure that no one would know, there are times when it’s unavoidable.  For instance, if I was in the bathroom, and someone else came in, if they did not leave very quickly, I would just go about my business.

However, today, after my run, I was in the restroom at work changing.  There was very clearly someone in the next stall.  Someone, who to judge from the rustling of pages turning, brought reading material.  Someone, who except for the aforementioned page rustling, made nary a peep the entire time I was in the bathroom.  Something like 10 minutes.  I kinda wanted to just let her know that it was okay to poop while I was there.  I wouldn’t be offended, nor would I mock her, but I didn’t say anything.  Because I can’t actually say “poop” to a stranger.  Unless that stranger is the scores of people now reading this.


It’s amazing how much your work load increases once people know you’re leaving in three weeks.

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