I'm writing to you to say how sorry I am. There's no excuse for my bad behavior, and every reason to apologize. You've mostly been good to me, and I've been a bad friend.
I think we got off on the wrong foot ten years ago, back when I was newly married, that time when you just freaked out on me for no reason. One minute I'm at the mall doing a little shopping and the next, I'm at home, on the bathroom floor unable to move. You were having some kind of trouble receiving oxygen and by golly, you had a shit fit.
Interesting aside: As I lay on the floor, figuring out the best way to crawl to the phone, I wondered if anyone might get mad at me for calling an ambulance. Like, what if it turned out I just needed a fart and a beer? Was I saving my ambulance call for a time when I might be MORE incapacitated than face down on the floor, bleeding from my ass?
Anyway, colon, this isn't about what you've done, its about me, and what I've done to you. This is, after all, an apology.
People do weird things to their colons. Sometimes they put heroin in tiny balloons and store them in there for the journey. That's nothing. Me, I take about two-and-a-half pounds of roast beef , a half pound of ham, wrap it in sticky buns and casserole, roll it in about a quarter pound of butter, and some cheese, then powder it all with confectioners sugar and coffee grounds and I tamp it down into you like you're a child's Christmas stocking. I imagine you bursting with artichoke dip and yorkshire pudding in the same way those knit stockings are pointed with dollar store toys and Pez dispensers. Again, I'm sorry.
After that whole blood clot thing you did, we've never been right with each other. You've proved yourself to be a bit of a moody prick, I don't mind telling you, and as such, I've treated you like one. Take THAT! I say with a second helping of tenderloin. Nuts? Did you say you wanted nuts? By all means, have a dish of nuts over two days. I think you'll enjoy crushing those up.
You don't fight fair either. You just storm out of the room. No discussion. You decide that I will not have use of any part of my digestive system from now until...you feel like it, or I've repented with a monks diet of twigs and water. What kind of system is that? Who does that benefit? I mean, ultimately, you know I'll just have my doctor shove a camera up there on five feet of tubing and see what you're up to. So really, what's the point of the stalemate?
I want us to be friends, Colon, I really do. There's a lot of you to love and you have some fine qualities. I've seen pictures of you happy, and pictures of you sad, and I like seeing the happy ones with you all pink, looking like an upside down smiley face. The ones of you looking like a twisted piece of old shoe leather make me feel pity and shame.
So anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I am going to try to do better by you. I'm not going to be as reckless with your feelings. I'm going to remember you in my actions. A little warm water at night. Some fiber cereal in the morning - I know what you like. Some probiotics as a special treat. Don't worry, I've got your back. I promise I will not hold you open and choke you like a goose with its liver on the way to becoming a fine pate.
But in return, I'd appreciate a little consideration from you. No more of this stranglehold. No more turning over on yourself and storming off like a spoiled kid. There are going to be times when you are just going to have to take it like a man. I'm not giving up sushi, so you'll just have to take one for the team, far as that goes. And there will be overindulgences from time to time. You know me, you know what I'm capable of, what makes me happy. Don't deny me these pleasures outright.
I'm looking forward to improved relations in the new year.
All the best,