I awoke this morning from a curious dream.
    I was seated just outside the relaxed sphincter of an enormous colon, one into which I could not only see but insert the entire upper half of my body. The colon was clear except for thick sheets of goo-like shit clinging to and dripping from the walls of the colon. Using a snow shovel-like device, I was scraping down the walls of the colon to remove the sheets of shit. It seemed as though the more I scraped, the more gooey shit I discovered. At one point I considered entering the colon entirely so I could stroll the length of it and do my job better, although, as I awoke I was still cleaning the entry.
    Curiously, it hasn't seemed to me that I've been particularly concerned about how clean my mother's colon will be for next Wednesday's procedure but rather whether she will become so dehydrated that the action of the laxatives will cause a blood pressure crash. Now, though, since the dream, I'm fascinated by my imagining of the cleaning process. A curiosity: in the dream, there was no 'mention' of the smell of what I was doing. I find this interesting because I've noticed, lately, that I'm not only becoming 'immune' to the smell of my mother's fecal activities, whether planned or serendipitous, but I'm beginning to associate certain fecal aromas with her various physical ups and downs, so that, sometimes, simply a whiff as I walk by her bathroom tells me, for instance, whether she is going to be active or lethargic for the next 12 hours.
- posted by gail rae @ 21:34   email...this post