My asshole hurts.
What if I have asshole cancer? A guy at my work had it. It was something that his manager shared with us once during a staff meeting. I dunno how many other people knew about it, but I can honestly say now that if I have it? I don't really want people to know. I think I'd rather disappear mysteriously.
Where'd Faith go? Did she quit?
Not sure. She's like Amelia Earhart, or something!
That'd be my ideal way for the news to spread about me being gone, anyway.
Not that I'd be GONE-gone. The dude who had asshole cancer here at work was old, smoked heavily, was really skinny, and he survived treatment. So I'm imagining that if I do, indeed, have cancer of the asshole variety, I'll survive it.
Not that I'll want to. Because, oooowwwwwwww!
I have a call in to a gastrointerologist, finally. I've been dealing with this...issue, for lack of a better term...for well over 6 months now. It's my own damned fault that the doctor recommended to me is not available to see new patients until October, right? So I'm taking my chances with another doc in the same practice.
I'm sharing this information with you all because I know you can handle it. (Well, except the Twin. She probably stopped reading at about the point I said that my asshole hurts, I'd guess, and then commented about what a jerk I am for writing about this topic.) And talking about it makes me feel better, believe it or not.
Well, mentally, anyway. You guys are awesome, and I wish you could magically make my posterior feel like a happy place again, but I don't think you have that ability.
If you do? And you're holding out on me, for some reason? Karma, dude. I'd watch out for it.