I still haven't pooped.
The good news: I may or may not be growing a small continent in my bowel. I plan to connect it to California when it breaks off and floats out into the Pacific.
The bad news: Have morphed into a senior citizen who discusses bowel habits with any other adult who will listen. Am gross.
More bad news: There is a version of the Black Eyed Peas song "Where is the Love" going through my head, but instead of love it says poop. "Where is the poop? The poop? Where is the poop? Poop? Where is the poop; the poop; the poop?"
Again with the bad news: Actually said to Mark, "I am not going ANYWHERE until I take a shit! Any. Where!"
I lied. I went to Arabica to study. I got so excited because I had a GURGLE - I jumped up out of my seat, let the chair deafeningly scrape against the hardwood floor and hightailed it to the restroom.
The Women's room was occupied, but the Men's room was wide open. I briefly considered waiting like a rational 27 year old woman, but then went right into the Men's room.
I may have actually let out a squee of delight as I locked the door and sat down - finally! the poop! squee!
Sadly, no dice. Or poop. La saga continues.
I pooped! It was not all that I thought it would be. But it was a start.
I've never been so happy to take a crap in my entire life.