I have IBS and, if I'm being mild, it's a fucking bitch and I hate it with every fibre of my being. (You don't want to hear me being moderate about IBS, and the one time I was severe, the Daleks were created as a direct result.) Even with the addition of hideous medicine like Mebeverine, which I have to swallow with my nose pinched as I don't like either medicinal compounds or bananas... and this one is both, IBS can attack at very inopportune moments.
This morning, for example, on a train, five minutes into a thirty-minute journey. With no toilets on the train. Huzzah for inadequacy. Upon arrival at the main London station I had to basically sprint to the toilets and spent about half an hour in agony trying to expel whatever it was that was causing the blockage - I'd forgotten, by this point, that IBS works on stress and the only thing that would calm me down was some de-stressing. There was also some blood on the paper, which didn't help my very illogical thought processes.
Anyway, I finally made it to college, but by this time I was too late to go into the lecture, so I just stayed out and went to the toilet again - this time I took a disabled cubicle. And, for basically no reason at all, I decided to sit and think about sex for a while.
No, I didn't orgasm. I didn't even touch myself... much. I didn't. I just reflected upon the finer points of sex. Innocent, remember?
But the thing is, it worked. Well, either that or dumb luck, or that thing that 47 claims Mister Jesus does for him (only in 47's case Mister Jesus removed a gallstone), or a combination of all three - like a Holy Trinity with only one of the original band members left. Whatever. I spent ages on the toilet in CONSTANT BLINDING PAIN, then thought about how awesome sexual intercourse is for about ten minutes and suddenly didn't feel so bad any more. I mean, I felt a bit squiffy,* and I still do. But there isn't any pain... and that's what helps.
Right, time go and make hot coffee for myself and possibly spend a few minutes thinking about sex. Hot coffee... sex... nope, can't see any jokes to end with there. Ah well, next time.
* It's a real word, honest.