[ WP ] Fall in love with something usually completely unlovable , and write your heart out about it .

The Dingleberry 
 
 
 Fourty-two hours. That's the total time from ingestion of a food until I excrete it out again. The average person is nearer to fifty hours, according to scentific studies on digestion however my own experiments involving stopwatches and tins upon tins of sweetcorn have allowed me to calculate my own transit time as this. Fourty-two hours. 
 
 It did n't start out as a hobby, just a process that had been around for millions of years before I even existed. Since the day I was born I have done it even before I gained the ability to store memories, I know I was doing it, that is just how it works. Every day, without fail for as long as I remember I have done it and some days more than others. For a dark time it became my reason for getting out of bed, the reason I still forced myself to eat when the rest of my body told me to curl up under my covers and think, think about nothing. 
 
 My eyes creep open as I am laying in bed, the sun barely making its way through my cheap cloth blinds that cover my windows. I roll from my side onto my back, placing the heel of my hands into my eyes and rubbing them as I groan. Then I feel it. A single, low rumble emanating from my intestine. Everything stops. My hands stop rubbing. My voice stops groaning. I stop breathing. Five seconds go by, another grumble and I breathe again. 
 
 I throw my legs from the bed and rise up, whistling as I make my way to the bathroom. I anticipate the cold floor against my bare feet, making them tingle and a childlike giddiness rose up in me. 
 
 I stand in centre of my bathroom as I always do in my routine, looking at myself for a few moments before I begin my routine. My thick dark hair pointing in every direction after my nights sleep. I am wearing a medium plain white t-shirt from American Apparel, my underwear are a pair of boxer shorts a size too small for me, Calvin Klein, white with red trim. I stand here not long, nervous to sit on that bowl. 
 
 This is it, make this moment last, savour it. My whole life has been building up to this moment. Using my thumb and index fingers I slide down my underwear, squatting down in the same motion. The skin of my ass jumps as it comes in contact with the white plastic seat, cold and unrelenting but within seconds I am used to it and I am home. 
 
 I sit back on my throne, half of my cheeks hanging into the bowl, aimed at the pool of fresh water gathered below me. I begin to push, clenching my abdominal muscles. I push too hard at first, feeling the gift working its way out faster than I want, I ease up, wanting this moment of perfection to last longer than this. 
 
 Nothing matters in this moment. Nobody is on my back, questioning me about reports. My phone is n't ringing asking about overdue rent or if I want to donate to the great charity of whatever. The television set is n't blaring advertisements at me for things I do n't need but somehow it has convinced me that I want it. The radio is n't asking me if I want help giving up smoking, losing weight, drinking, improving sexual performance, controlling my anger. This is just time for me. Alone. Me, the toilet and the gift. 
 
 My legs tingle as the head of the gift breaches, poking out into the air like a child being born, except less mess. I shut my eyes and find myself grinning as it slides out, long and thick, gliding past my sphincter, empty my bowel. It drops into the water with a satisfying plopping sound, reminding me of throwing stones into a river as a child. 
 
 I push again before realising that is all that will be coming today. I catch my breath, this has potential to be a `` Perfect Poo''. A `` Perfect Poo'' is a momentous occasion, a thing of pure ecstasy and beauty. Every bodies `` Perfect Poo'' is different and be judged on differing variables and characteristics. Your `` Perfect Poo'' will be different from mine and ours will be different from The Presidents. The first of my boxes had been ticked. A single, long log that requires not so much pushing that I strain and hurt, constipation but enough pushing so that I feel like I have worked for that poo. Earned it. Check. 
 
 My heart rate increases as I stand up, turning slowly so I face the bowl and sniff cautiously. No smell. Check. 
 
 I reach for the toilet paper, pulling down the roll and snapping off a few sheets, folding them over on themselves so my finger does n't break through when I wipe. Nothing else matters in the world except this. Not what I am having for breakfast, not the patch of mold growing in my kitchen, not the hairs disappearing from my head. 
 
 I wipe with the paper once, barely daring to breath and I look down at the paper. No stain. Check. 
 
 My hands feel clammy now as I use the paper to search around my ass. Then I felt it. A small chunk had lodged its way into the hair that sprouted from my ass, clinging on, not wanting to enter the water. The Dingleberry. Check. 
 
 The Dingleberry hung from my hair, wanting to be a part of me again, back inside me. Like a baby bird sticking close by its mother, afraid to stretch its wings and take its first flight. This Dingleberry sticks to me more than anything in my life, my family, my friends. 
 
 I place the toilet paper over it and grab it through the folds, I can feel it through the paper and it pulls with it a couple of hairs as I remove it, making my eyes water. Say what you want but you ca n't doubt the little Dingleberry's determination. 
 
 I bring it back in front of me, staring at it for a few moments before I drop it down into the water below. I pause before I flush, my body still tingling from the experience, knowing full well this `` Perfect Poo'' did not happen every day. What if this was the last `` Perfect Poo'' I ever experienced? I cast the thought from my mind as I pushed down the silver handle, not caring or recoiling from how cold it was. I felt like I should say a few words, but did n't. 
 
 I pulled up my boxers and made my way to the sink, turning on the hot tap and allowing my hands to remain under the stream to warm up. I glanced up at the mirror I looked at myself in earlier and noticed I was smiling. A big toothy grin. I could n't remember the last time I had smiled like this, I shook my head, genuinely trying to remember the last time I had smiled which caused me to laugh, throw my head back and roar at the ceiling. 
 
 Everything was going to be alright.
