Each week, I have some lame excuse for failing to deliver profundity. Today is no exception. Today it is my bowels; they are my "excuse du jour". Or, perhaps, my "excuse du semain", since I only do this weekly. (Oh, how I love pretending to be bilingual.)

Whether it was a disease caught in the foreign lands of Europe, or perhaps British Columbia, or whether it was jetlag, or whether it was some more mundane thing picked up last week at home, I am ill. Mostly a fever over the last few days, today we have a new sign. Today, I do not stray far from the bathroom.

Have you ever tried to be profound, or even eloquent, when your backside is holding you hostage? I always laughed at those "old people" ads for "keeping you regular".

Ha!
Ha ha ha!!

I no longer laugh.

I never realized how traumatizing it can be to be chained, figuratively, to the toilet. (I always assumed that it would be traumatizing literally, but thankfully have never had that confirmed.) There is no joy in life. There is no humour. There is not even sarcasm. There is none of the normalcy of life. There is only you, and your behind, controlling you like an evil step-mother of fairytale proportion.

I can console myself that this is part of my illness, whatever that may be, and not merely a sign of growing older. Next week, I'll probably be healthy again. But, that said, I am growing older. I need a strategy - a way to ensure that this feeling of helplessness never recurs.

I need bran.