Journal
Thu 14 April 2011
I am sitting in my second-hand Ikea chair, farting. Carl is on my shoulder devouring a piece of bread I gave him. He is depositing crumbs there, which will end up on my floor. I have drunk a beer already and am now on a second one. Rachel is in the hospital, water broken, ready to give birth to her third child. I will meet up with Ben and others in an hour or so for drinks and darts. There is a police siren going by on Franklin Avenue.
I wasn’t kidding about the farting. Over the past few days my gaseous discharge has been heinous – both stinky and frequent. I thought it was the cheap salsa I had bought to go on chips and tortillas, but it may turn out to be something else I have unwittingly incorporated into my diet. When I sit for a long period, it eventually smells like I am sitting on a load of poop, instead of just having a passing stink. When I wake up in the morning, I smell farts, as if I have been doing it all night. Once, I got back in my car while running errands and smelled a fart from earlier that had been trapped and had not dissipated, even after 20 minutes or so. By the end of the day my underwear smells terrible (not that I really need to smell it before tossing it in the bin). And at work I must clench my sphincter until I can reach a locked bathroom to release my shameful brown mist.
This private suffering led me to think: Is this what daily life is like for most Americans? Once I find the offending food item I will eliminate it and my problem of the past week will go away. But for people who eat fast food every day (and there are many), or who consume unnatural quantities of meat or certain cheeses, wines or beers, is this their regular state of being? Are they gas-bags who must walk around with stinky pants all the time? I cannot discount the possibility. But in the meantime I will examine my most recent grocery receipts.
pseudoisaac 