Once in a decade I get constipated so badly that I have to dig shit out of my asshole with my own fingers. The first time this happened was in 1991 (“Despair,” June 7, 1996). The second time was in 2001 (“Shaking All Over,” August 1, 2001). And the third time was today. About an hour ago, to be a bit more precise. I realized once again that a ball of shit was forming in my colon and that it could not get out through the asshole. After two days, it had to be dug out. I shook all over just like the first two times, but I was much less concerned about the indignity this time around. After so many experiences, digging shit has become kind of normal with me, I guess. The job done, I went into the bathtub and washed myself thoroughly. However, I focused on the future rather than the gory present. My diet needs serious reconsideration at this point, of course. I just returned from the store with a bunch of apples. As I write, I am eating the first one. A bout of diarrhea would be a load of fun.