Aspects of Internal Gasses

I think biorhythms are so interesting. Yesterday I felt like crap. Today I did my biorhythms and it turns out yesterday my physical line hit rock bottom. No wonder. Anyway, today I am more hopeful and I’m feeling slightly better. The guides were of great assistance yesterday, too, when they mentioned that I might do better using Citrucel rather than Metamucil. Both are for increasing the amount of fiber in your diet. But, I’ve found that Metamucil gives me the farts. I’ve got industrial sized bottles of both brands and the parsimonious side of me doesn’t want to waste anything so I’m doggedly working my way through the Metamucil before I get to use the Citrucel. Actually, the Metamucil isn’t even real Metamucil, it’s the Long’s Drug Store brand knock off version.

What was going on yesterday was that I was so ding-donged bloated it was horribly uncomfortable. The guides asked me a pointed question and that was: when did I notice the condition and when did I take my fiber? Duh. I wasn’t connecting the dots with bloating = farting = I don’t feel good. And, unlike what my mother-in-law used to say (at least DeeDude has always maintained that she said this a lot…I have my doubts.), “Better out than in”, I try not to fart at work. It just doesn’t go with a professional atmosphere.

“Hello, (fart). Can I help you? (fart). No, nothing is wrong (fart).” See what I mean? No matter how well you are dressed, no matter how well your hair is coiffed, no matter how shiny your shoes might be, farting just tends to undo everything and people will walk away from you as rapidly as they can possibly handle before they are actually running. My father told me once he used to reach over and rattle the drawers in his metal desk when he needed to fart in the office.

When we were kids somehow we came across a rule about farting that has lasted all these long years. When somebody farts everyone must knock on wood and the last person who knocks is the person who eats the fart. We loved it. When I got married my husband, DeeDude, cottoned onto the rule immediately and 30 years later I’m still always the one who eats every ding-donged fart in our house. DeeDude manages to come up with an obscure variation on the rule every single time, so that it doesn’t matter that I am first to knock (also the first to fart a lot), but if the other person was holding their breath at the time of the fart then the first person who knocks on wood eats it double. Stuff like that. One of the guides just suggested I slip him a Mickie loaded with Metamucil the next time he wants something from the kitchen. Ha.