Notes from the Bathroom Floor: A Colonoscopy Confessional

This is not the detox Gwyneth Promised

I have a colonoscopy tomorrow, which means today, I am in the bowels of the required colonoscopy prep. Pun intended.

And I’m thinking a lot of things:

You know what sounds good right now? A doughnut.

I don’t care what kind of doughnut. Sure, I have favorites—but I’ve never met a doughnut I didn’t like.

I don’t understand people who refuse to eat certain doughnuts. Or ice cream.

Yeah, coconut ice cream would probably be the last flavor I’d pick, but I would still happily eat it. I would never say, “Oh. All you have is coconut ice cream? I’ll pass.”
Yeah, I’d never say that.

Same goes for cookies. There are people in the world who refuse to eat oatmeal raisin cookies.

Is oatmeal raisin as good as chocolate chip? Of course not. But it’s still delicious.

Who are these “I don’t like oatmeal raisin cookies” people?
Show me on this doll where the oatmeal cookie hurt you.

Man, I’m hungry.

Let me check on the lime Jell-O I made this morning.
Nope, not ready.

Do I even want lime Jell-O if I can’t mix whipped cream with it?

Wow, this Jell-O is really green.
Greener than any actual lime I’ve ever seen.

Should a food be this green?
It looks radioactive. No one tell RFK Jr. I’m eating this.

Okay, Gavilyte... let’s do this cleanse.
8 oz every 15 minutes. I’m just gonna slam down each glass like it’s a shot of tequila.

The Gavilyte came with a lemon flavor packet.
As if the taste is the problem—and not the fact that I’ll be afraid to sneeze for the next 12 hours.

Pretend it’s tequila... pretend it’s tequila...

Hey, I wonder if you could actually add tequila to this. Let me read the instructions.

They say not to, but really, how bad could it be?
I mean, tequila is a liquid.

But what if I do and then all this is for naught?
Plus, if I add tequila, I’m going to want chips and salsa.
Well, even more than I already do.

Okay, I’m 86ing the tequila.
(See, Comey. THAT is the proper use of “86.” What an idiot.)

I don’t usually call people idiots, but I’m hungry. And grouchy.
And I have to keep drinking this stuff.
And I really want coffee. With cream.
And a sandwich.

Reading the news this morning:
Two Israeli Embassy staff members were killed last night in D.C.—Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim.

They were leaving an event promoting peace and reconciliation when they were approached by Elias Rodriguez of Chicago.
He shot them both.

Then he walked into the event looking “distraught.” The people inside rushed to help him—unaware that he was the murderer.

When police cuffed him, he shouted, “Free Palestine.”

If THIS isn’t enough to label these radicals as antisemitic terrorists, what is?

If the bullying and threats to Jewish students on American campuses isn’t enough to get these people labeled as dangerous—if the premeditated gunning down of a young Israeli couple in the middle of Washington, D.C. isn’t enough—then what exactly is?

I wish there were some kind of Gavilyte for antisemitism and hate.

And we could force open the mouths of every “From the River to the Sea” protestor and pour it in—without the lemon flavor packet.

Let them purge that crap right into the sewer, where that kind of hate belongs.

Hey, you know what sounds good right now? Spaghetti.

And lasagna.

And manicotti.

Really, Italian food is kind of like New Mexican food.
Same ingredients in every dish, just put together differently.

Do not come at me over this statement. I am hungry. It will not go well.

The first hour of Gavilyte didn’t appear to be doing much.
This second hour is when the “lite” in Gavilyte starts to feel like a lie.

OMG, I’m cold. Really cold.
Does poop keep you warm? It must, because the more I go, the colder I get.

TIRAMISU. Oh, that sounds good.

I really should do some laundry. I’m home. There is no excuse not to go downstairs and start a load of wash.

I’m giving myself a Gavilyte pass on this.
It’s like a hall pass but in the shape of a toilet.

I was JUST IN THE BATHROOM two minutes ago and look—I’m here again.
At this point, I’m wondering if I should just put a comforter down on the floor and spend the night in here.

I’ll bring my phone charger, some books, my glasses. Maybe a candle. Maybe some throw pillows to dress it up. It’s what Gwyneth Paltrow would want.

Goop would brand this whole thing as a “Wellness Retreat.” But she’d trade out the lime green Jello for “spiritual gelatin.” Made from vapor distilled lavender water served in a Himalayan salt glass.

Yeah, this is the cleanse they don’t advertise on Goop.
No yoga mat. No green juice.
Just me, my toilet and thoughts of doughnuts that won’t go away.

I wonder if anyone has ever TikTok’d their colonoscopy prep.
Not sure if I really want to do a search on that. Some things are better left unknown.

Keep getting up to get a snack.
My body doesn’t understand why it can’t eat.

I think this is what dogs must feel like when they’re sent to the kennel.
WHY? Why can’t I come? Where are my snacks? What did I do wrong?

It’s hard to know where I end and the toilet begins. We are one now.

If I don’t make it, tell my family I died doing what I hated: NOT eating and pooping aggressively.

(**Note: If this post makes no sense, blame the lime Jell-O, the lack of food, and the fact that my bathroom has absorbed part of my soul.)