I have to confess: lately I’ve been rather disappointed in myself. I just havn’t had the same peppy spring in my step. I feel like there’s something weighing me down but im just not sure what? I want to go back to being the firm, shapely way I used to be. I miss it: that feeling of pain tinged relief. Hearing that single, satisfying splash always put a smile on my face. Now I have to flex and strain myself, only to hear a “plop” in return for my efforts. I dearly miss that noise, I had become so familiar I sprung up when I didn’t hear it. I turned and looked down, spotting to small offender. Twas like receiving a golden nugget instead of a solid bar. I sat back down and hoped the next contender would bring me the familiar tingle and noise of success. However, I was disappointed to hear several more “plops” in quick succession. I yearned to hear that familiar, comforting noise. I am no rabbit, I’m a man and I want it to look manly; as if it had from the very bowels of the most testosterone fueled lumberjack the world had ever seen. It has been several weeks from that day and I have yet to produce my familiar golden brick. I miss those eye-wateringly painful moment just before the blissful splash. I want to see to see that red spot of success on my wiping tissue. My golden brick has been a trademark of mine beyond even my own memory. My mother regaled the tale of how, within the first few years of my life, I had left one of my trademark golden bars in my Grandmother’s receptacle where it was later happened upon by my Grandfather. He was so impressed with the girth in relation to my small frame he could not believe my small frame had produced it. He found it more plausible that someone had broken-in and left the bar as a gift than the truth. Twas not until my Mother verified its origin that he realized the truth and even then he was flabbergasted. In fact, I just showed my Mother this very writing, to which she replied: “that’s all true, can’t make it up”.