Bowels in an uproar

When we were kids, and we would throw a fit about something, my father was always quick with a, "Don't get your bowels in an uproar!"

I never really knew what that meant, but basically, translating the Dad Book of Terms and Little Known Facts to normal, everyday person speak, he was trying to tell us to "CHILL!"
I really should have listened harder to that "CHILL!" part. Of course, if I'd had the pocket translation companion dictionary to the Dad Book of Terns and Little Known Facts, I might have been able to understand, fully, the "CHILL!" part. Sadly, that companion translation dictionary came out in a later version ... on BETA.

As a result, I have a tad bit of difficulty dealing with things that are, how shall I put this???? Stressful.

It is truly sad, I think, when you, the person dealing with stress, fails to realize it for what it is, and must rely on others to point out the obvious:


Since the dawning of 2011, I have been dealing with digestive issues. I won't go into the gory details -- and they are gory -- but let's just say, things have not been working as they should. Then, all of a sudden, about a month ago, they started working all too well. Much too well ...

I went to my doctor ... he took blood ... lots and lots of blood. And I had to give samples ... lots and lots of samples.

The diagnosis? I'm healthy. Fat, but healthy.

So, here's the gist of things:
  • My mother received a pamphlet about women's health and how stress is the leading cause of health problems in women.
  • Within this pamphlet's pages was a laundry list of health issues associated with stress (sleeplessness, fatigue, short-tempered, digestive issues, high blood pressure, headaches, excessive alcohol use, excessive smoking,).
  • Beneath the laundry list was my photo.
Apparently, this has been a stressful year for me, and I've failed to recognize it because, what's a single girl going to do about it but pull up her big girl pants and get on with it. Apparently, my life has been in transition, and I needed my father to give me a laundry list of those things:
  1. Graduate school ... there's more that I could write, but really, Graduate School seems to say it all, no?
  2. I bought a house. Apparently, that ups the stress factor considerably.
  3. House stuff ... i.e., leaky bathrooms, leaky gutters, yard work, sky-rocketing gas bills, insanely, ridiculous amounts of minuscule tasks that add up to a FREAKIN', gigantic headache.
  4. Work ... no one seems to understand the immense pressures facing teachers. In nine years, the face of teaching has changed drastically. It's now a haggard, wrinkly shell of a face. Every ounce of life has been sucked from it ...
  5. Others personal stuff that seems to swirl around me with such a great degree of frequency and fluidity, it's down-right mind-boggling. I'm there ... I'm a friend, but I can't seem to stop myself from worrying about it for them.
  6. The cacophony of voices that seem to be non-stop these last few months, pushing their agendas and opinions on me like candy.
All of these things are adding up to ... well, my bowels being in an uproar. So, it has come to my attention that I need to do something about it. Not sure what, just yet, but I'm researching that.

Weekly massages?
Half hour of aroma therapy and soothing music?

I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, Operation Keep Megan Out of a Straight Jacket has been put into full-on mode.


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