My Wet Fart Reminders
As a 24-year-old man, I have spent, most of my life, trying to relish in my youthful nature. When I was a kid, I would spend my summers making movies and short films with my friends. Those memories, and long film days a laugh with buddies, manifested themselves into a love for acting! Which is basically playing pretend as a job.
Growing up was just never really something that was super urgent. Yes, I loved being creative and youthful, but I found that the longer I could wait to become an adult, maybe the happier I would be? Sans responsibilities and hardships?
Being an adult turned out to be rewarding
Having my own place and being to pay for it ended up being so incredibly rewarding. I would wake up, on my own time, and drive to work at the break of dawn. I could provide for myself and learn how to eat on my own without needing to trick myself into liking it! Hell, I could eat whatever I want and whenever I wanted! No more trying to shove Brussel sprouts down my gullet in the name of ‘eating green’ like a ‘good boy.’ It would be smooth sailing being on my own.
I can’t with the wet farts
If someone were to tell me that my developing IBS-D would include this cool feature through to adulthood, I would not have believed you.
I mean come on, farts were supposed to be funny! Or, in grade school, a cue to turn your butthole into a miniature Fort Knox. Not letting as much as a whisper or idea of stink emerge.
Farts were something to be trusted. They used to be, for me, a way of releasing pressure. Making sure that my IBS wasn’t manifesting into something more solid. I was on location, filming a movie, in a museum, waiting to go before the camera, and struggling with my stomach. I mean anxiety is enough of a trigger, but I needed fuel to carry on! So I found myself taking dramatic passes around the museum. Cropdusting each antique, feigning over history in an attempt of not needing to find a potty.
This was my life but at least I could rely on it
Nowadays, I have to constantly measure the fart behind my butthole. As if I were dipping my toe in the water to test a pool’s temperature, I’m supposed to do the same with my anus? Every fart could be my last, filled with slight moisture. Enough to ruin my day until I can wipe and get on with my life.
This is grand-adulthood? Honestly, it feels like I’m still a kid. Like no matter how hard I try, I am still a baby who needs a diaper. Like no matter how old I get… I am… still… a kid at heart?
No matter how old I get, how many bills I have to pay, or how many bosses chew me out, I still have wet farts. I am still creative and imaginative like I was in days of yore. Only sometimes, I need my butt to remind me of that. Huh, looks like an occasional wipe isn’t that bad when it carries with it the memories of a simpler time. I find myself so eager to look to the past that maybe, I should live with both. A hybrid of my love to act but my responsibility to check my farts before I wreck myself. If this is what it took to get here, so be it. Better be safe than sorry (just like passing gas)!
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