A Loss of Self (worth?)....

Okay. Here we go. Brace yourself.
Electricians came today to finally install hot water. My introduction to the two dudes was pretty disastrous because I had no idea what they were saying, but we all climbed passed this and established a positive rapport. Anyways, they start doing their business which means the toilet is down. And, of course, by God's loving grace, the times when we have to go to the bathroom the most are the times when something prevents it.
It got bad.
I'm standing in the bedroom, knees shaking like a maniac, sweat soaking my body, me contorting into all sorts of obnoxious positions, praying that these fellas not catch a glimpse of my agony. We all know how it comes and goes - we feel the intense urge and it passes for a moment, we catch a breath, grab onto the wall and prepare for the next urge. Well, it came to the point where there were no breaks. My body was demanding that it do what it was called to do. So then my mind is dissolving and I start reasoning that I am way too old to have to experience this ridiculous drama. So I walk into the spare room, close the door and start clenching a roll of toilet paper like it's a life jacket and I'm lost in the ocean. And I notice a pad of paper and I start illogically thinking that I deserve to get this out of my body - that although I'm too old to pant over pottytime, I am somehow not too old to crouch on the ground and follow my destiny.

And so I did it and it couldn't have been otherwise.

(for a moment just I now I considered sparing you the details after the incident, but decided it's essential to the story - after all, i have no more dignity at this point)

So I drag the mess under a chair, close the door and walk to the guys and pretend to be interested in their work. The man tells me I can use the bathroom now and I'm thinking - "Eff-you, man, my doo-doo's under a chair and I want to kill myself."
I return to the room which smells foul, so I put my creation in a bag, tie it up, and throw a blanket over the chair to trap the stench. Upon another visit, I realize this isn't sufficient, so I sneak the bag past the men, run downstairs, throw the bag in a tiny trash barrel, and ran back upstairs.

The men are still here now. And the room is currently airing out with an open window.

I think Mark might break up with me because of this. Yikes.

(Also, you better believe I took a picture of the corner where I did it - but i can't find the adapter cord to import the photo).

I'm sorry.
I posted this really for my sake - to remember the good, the bad, and the smelly.
I feel convicted (like Pee Wee Herman).
I hope we can all still be friends.