Two days ago my roommate (my ex-fiance's brother) made us some beef stew. It was very good. But since then I have had the runs like you wouldn't believe. I'm up to five immodiums. Usually two do it for me, at the most three. I was on the elevator at work yesterday clunching my butt cheeks together and something almost came out. Luckily I made it to bathroom on time. It was quite close.
After my Mom died it was just me and my Dad living together. When we ate together I cooked all the meals. Usually my famous Shake'N'Bake chicken, steak or lamb chops. I made a great roast duck right after she died but he said it was too greasy. It's been almost two years since my Dad passed away and the only thing I have cooked has been microwave hotdogs. My girlfriend/fiance at the time hated my cooking. She said my steaks and lambchops sucked so she cooked everything or else I bought us dinner out or ordered in. Now that we have broken up I'm back to my hotdog diet. Guess I'll have to start cooking again. Definitely not beef stew.
When I was a kid our TV room was directly under my parents' bedroom. Whenver someone walked in the bedroom I could hear the floors creak. I would get this fear that the floor would cave in and I'd be crushed. I would turn up the television set volume so I wouldn't hear the creaking. Of course, I would inevtiably get into trouble for having the sound too loud and be told to turn it lower. So I suffered with this panic for years.
When I was about 16 I was sitting in my bud's place in his bedroom which was in the basement. The same type of creaking could be heard from above as I heard in my TV room. We were drinking beers and listening to tunes. I eventually realized that my anxiety had dissipated. I put two and two together and came out with alcohol.
My panic/anxiety grew as I got older. The screeching noise that trucks and/or busses make when stopping; haircuts (it's been like 10 years and I still buzz my own hair); people jumping on the dance floor making you feel the floor move; mowing the lawn under big tree branches (they could fall off and crush me); noisy machines (they could blow up); on and on and on. But luckily for me I was an alcoholic and drunk the majority of the time. Unfortunately the anxiety grew and grew and grew until one day it was just a continuous panic attack that would never go away. Thus I had to go on the meds.
Eventually I sobered up and the meds continued to work. When I was three years into sobriety I decided that maybe I didn't need the meds anymore. With the doctor's help I weaned off the meds. Within six months I couldn't function any more and had to admit defeat and go back on the coo-coo pills. Oh well. One of the reasons I wanted to go off the pills is because I would get anxiety thinking about not being able to get them any longer if a nuclear holocaust (or some other disaster) befell the earth.
Dave the Dude
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