a little sad but really not sad

Earlier in my life I was a most social pooper.  Having a brother of nearby age is a great instigator to such a personality.  Enjoying summer camp is another.  Having goofball friends with an appreciation for gross out humor throughout one's youth is a third.  Continuing conversations across the not-taking-a-shit/taking-a-shit threshold, conversations both mundane and qua shitting; the experience of moving my bowels was enhanced when it had a social aspect to it.

It's different these days.  While I do blog about what I deposit and pop up with the DDB Annual Report once in a while, so much of the time I'm pooping I'm trying to be quiet about it.  In the morning, trying not to wake up a sleeping dear person.  In the evening, trying not to be gross.  Most of all, during the day, trying not to make a small office of middle-aged women aware of my fecal sounds or fecal smells.  The most satisfying shits I take are at home, no one else around.  Although, having the door open and being visited by the cat is still immensely attractive.  Part of it is surely apartment & city life vs house & suburb life.  

I don't feel as though anyone took this pleasure from me, I feel things have just evolved this way.  It makes sense that now I am a less crude, more devotional solo shitter.  I do long for ways to re-socialize the shit, but not in a reactionary way.  It doesn't have to be how it was before, but I did and do like that ideal as a way to take a turd.