All right, the bathroom is clean. I ain’t doin’ a goddamn thing the rest of the day, except taking a walk to the store in about a half-hour to pick up a six-pack of Gatorade and a tube of Desitin. The Gatorade’s to keep me hydrated and replenish my electrolytes. You figure out what the Desitin’s for.

I really shouldn’t have done this but, when I picked up the industrial-strength laxative I’m supposed to drink today and tomorrow, the pharmacist gave me a thick packet they hilariously call a medication guide, and I read it this morning. I try not to do that because it’s more like a nightmarish prose poem than a guide of any sort. Usually six or eight pages of very small print, it’s a litany of every known and possible side effect of taking whatever medicine they’ve given you, and the side effects are always the same. They start with nausea, dizziness and chills, but quickly escalate to blinding headaches, loss of consciousness and blood spurting from every escape hatch on your body, including your eyes, ears, nose and fingernails. Why would I want to know any of that? The medical profession ought to be based on the blind faith that my doctor will give me medicine that will only make me feel better, not make me clutch my chest as blood hemorrhages from all my orifaces. Orifaci. Orifacea? Them big holes in my skin.

Irregular heartbeat, heart attacks and exploding heart syndrome seem to be the theme of the side effects associated with the megalaxative I’ll be using. I made up “exploding heart syndrome” but if it’s a real thing I call dibs on the royalties. Aside from serious dehydration, the self-inflicted diarrhea it causes will drain me of electrolytes, which are little glowing orbs of magic that surround your heart and prevent heart disease. They really are. Look it up. That’s why I’m going to the store to stock up on Gatorade, or whatever sports drinks are supposed to be loaded with electrolytes. I’m allowed all the clear liquids I can hold, so I’ll be sucking on a big bottle of that from now until tomorrow morning, or until I’m too miserable to suck on it any more.