Milt

Last night 1800 hours visited a small Japanese eatery downtown. All of us managers were invited by our boss. We slaved around the table and waited for the presentation. The head chef reprimanded his assistant publicly. Sake and other rice distillates, scotch whiskey, red wine and plum wine flowed around the long table. Dishes started to appear rapidly. Pickled cabbages and radishes from the steppes of some mountain in eastern China. Assorted fillets of fish, red and white and slippery. A bowl of wet sea weeds with ginger in the center. A pile of corrugated milt, the spent seminal fluids of some unfortunate fish. Halved legs of a king grab. Grilled fishes of various composition and quality. I ate them all, greedily. I ate and drank and listened to all the laughter and mildly disguised insults. I watched the head chef perform magic tricks. The crowd was drunk. I felt the promise of a respite coming. A shit was rising. I sneaked away to the carefully decorated bathroom and loosed all over the toilet. I painted the bowl with my ass. I reveled in my privacy and in my explosive act. I wiped and got on with it, returning to the table with a new comfort in my stride.

The hemorrhoid has retreated. Its brief appearance will be noted, but I am feeling that the musings of last week were partially melodramatic. My anus is firm and in excellent condition now. I no longer need to think of it every moment, visit it in the receiving bathroom every hour to ensure that it is on the path to healing. It is healed. I release responsibility back to the cipher. Let this anus of mine do its work. I have other things of concern to address. My right nipple still has a small pocket or pustule protruding from the nipple crest. It is the result of a certain shirt with a poorly designed pocket seam. The seam irritated my nipple for an entire day. Returning home from work that day I examined the nipple with care and noticed the pustule. I will let it be. Like the anus, i assume the nipple can care for itself. Is it foolish to assume the nipple might be as talented as the anus? Perhaps.

This morning I woke at 0700 hours to take my wife to work. I stopped at the breakfast stand that offers reasonable fare at the cost of waiting nearly 20 minutes for its preparation. I devoured a fried chicken breast sandwich, and a pork cutlet wrapped in an egg and a sort of tortilla. I drank a cup of iced coffee. I had already produced 1 shit at around 0720 so I knew that today's feces had been greatly affected by last night's meal. The post-breakfast shit confirmed my suspicions that today's produce would be confined primarily to diarrhea and mossy, sulfurous odor. I am the only one in the house. I am not ashamed.