Pee-pee
I am going to have a heart attack one day.
What’s the longest you’ve had to hold your pee? You know that awful feeling. You are holding your pee so hard you debate just letting it go. A feedback loop begins:
How much longer can I biologically hold this? Five more minutes, tops.
Should I discreetly relieve myself here? No one will notice.
No one should have to look this hard for a public toilet! Damn country!
I will NOT pee on the street. I am better than that.
Men do this all the time. WHY SHOULDN’T I?
Oh god I’m going to give myself a UTI why didn’t I just use the bathroom at the coffee shop instead of leaving in a rush to avoid talking to the barista?
I am going to die if I don’t pee soon.
Wait WTF? I don’t need to pee anymore. Oh god, have I gone into septic shock?
Oh wait no. There it is again. FUCK. OK I’m gonna beg someone to let me use their bathroom and offer cash money to enter their house.
How much longer, seriously, can I hold this…
Eventually you make it somewhere decent, and relieve yourself. It feels divine.
I am going to have a heart attack soon. Unless I tell you I have held a key in my mouth to represent the whole universe. Unless the tensile strength of discretion and tact give way to the full bloom of compassion. Unless I heal you. Unless you touch me. My heart will give way to a key in your mouth.
