doing baking work

I turned around to have a glance at a shit that I was flushing away, and I noticed the pock marks on it, the craters, the bubbles. I was reminded strongly of baking bread. I thought, is that what my guts are? Are they just an oven to cook chewed up food into a bread of sorts that you'd never want to eat? Wouldn't that be something beautiful.

new environs

The office space I've been working in the last four years has idiosyncratic bathrooms. One-seaters both, relatively privacy, even if you can hear what's going on in there from adjacent spaces pretty easily.

Due to lack of basic amenities in that building, my job is now happening out of another co-working space nearby. This is the soulless type of co-working space dreamed up by a real estate person who has a building they can't get top dollar for from some big client, so they make little airless rooms for people priced out of the previous concept of urban office space to pay too much for. The lights go out every five minutes if you haven't moved.

The bathrooms here are like a fancy doctor's office in Manhattan (there's one in particular I'm conjuring to mind). Everything touchless. The bathroom I use most often has two urinals and three stalls. One stall has a sink in it's enclosure, which is obviously the best one. The seat on the toilet in that stall is loose though, which is disconcerting, given the way I clean my ass.

The most notable thing though is the sound. I used to think, in the idiosyncratic office space, about how you could sometimes hear things through the door and 50 ft away. But in this bathroom, you can definitely hear things because there's not even a door. A lot of grunting and muttering. I support both of those as stool delivery assistance. But there's some re-calibration in getting used to it.

Language is Meaningless, an example

The dumps you make are the dumps you take