The Allegory Of The Turd.
Jun 3, 08- (by JunkysWife)
- 5 responses
- Sobriety Salon
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I got back from out of town to find our toilet clogged. There was a giant turd stuck in the bottom of the toilet…the kind of turd that only can be produced by an opiate addict…and a great wad of toilet paper floating in brownish-gray, greasy water. I didn’t say anything…clearly, my husband had clogged the toilet. Clearly, there was some good reason why the turd would be sitting there, stewing in its own juices…maybe he was waiting for the large, sticky, opiate-tainted log to soften in the water so that it might flush more gracefully…I tried everything to think of a good reason why the turd would be there and why it wouldn’t have been dealt with. I didn’t want to deal with it myself, so I made the trek up the stairs to the guest bathroom to handle my business.
I woke up the next morning, and once again, the turd was still there. The toilet paper monstrosity floating above it prohibited me from flushing it myself, so I let it sit, thinking that, surely, he’d deal with it today. Surely, he’d tire of climbing up and down the stairs and be willing to get the plunger or whatever it would take to put the turd out of our lives…
Not so! I got home from work some 14 hours later, and the turd was still there. Again, I said nothing. I went upstairs to use the toilet and shower, and I went to bed. Wash, rinse, and repeat for the third day…I got home from another long day at work followed by a meeting, and I felt empowered to ask, gently, kindly, “Do you think you could do something about that turd?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about it…”
He sat around for another couple of hours, but now the turd is gone. I’m glad it’s over. I suppose there’s no need for me to clarify the elegant allegory of my husband’s turd, its smelly, offensive presence in our lives, our mutual agreement not to discuss it, our careful efforts to avoid it at all costs…It was a problem he made, a problem it was his responsibility to rectify, but he didn’t, and I had to deal with the consequences…no, it’s not necessary for me to explain the symbol…
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That is one metaphoric turd. Dam I wish I could write like you. Agustin Burroughs would be proud. Being a songwriter allows me the luxury of being creative minus the grammar and rules.
All kidding aside only someone who has been there can understand the insanity in the situation. I never want to be there again and you really help with that.
I agree with Jimi 100%. Your words are full of strength and meaning. I look for your blogs to help me with the daily routine of being the spouse of a user.
I hope the you are able to find sernity. Being that your words help me find mine.
Oops! I left out one important word in the previous comment. Let’s try again?
I have a 175 pound turd sitting in the bottom of my metaphorical toilet and I’m ready to press the flush lever.
Thanks, as always
I love when life presents really obvious and wonderful metaphors.
Oo, it looks like you might have an RSS feed now. Maybe I can actually read this regularly.
(Argh, except now the comment posting thing is yelling at me!)
I stumbled upon your blog during a very random Google search and I LOVE IT!! Keep writing!! : )