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Not long ago, while all the news pop out about Abe retirement, I self-diagnosed myself as IBS. Every now and then when I'm expected to speak at an important meeting or to meet people for business, the waiting time makes my intestines nervous, and prone to diarrhea.

At this stage, I am most afraid of needing to go toilet not on a scheduled timing. The consequence is unbearable, that I have to leave with the pain in my ass for the rest of the day, not able to lying down and sleep to let it recovery. So I followed the articles advise, started to buy probiotic milk products regularly, welcome good bacterias, hoping them to comfort my intestines. It does seems to work, the pain gradually managable and recovery in less hours.

Humans are very forgetful animals. The scar is forgotten when it’s not painful anymore.I mention "gradually", before the probiotic milk therapy, for over a month, after changing my schedule, I went to toilet just before going to bed, the pain is tolerable when I'm lying down comfortablly and disappear while falling asleep. When I woke up in the morning everything will be normal again.

“End my suffering” was my prayer every night, the barrier of toilet sitting. I allowed myself to escape on Saturday night though, a tight sleep all the way till Sunday noon, get up and have lunch, then go toilet then lying back in bed again. I can feel the pain getting much better to endure, maybe the prayer works. But when the menstruation is due it gets worse again.

I checked online when the menopause started. There is a range, I’m one foot step in, but yet to be close to the average, I wonder Is it because of it coming to an end, that the period used to be one symple mark in my youth, easy comes and goes, now appear in various patterns in every phase of the menstrual cycle month over month.

Besides the common fatigue and sleepiness in bleeding period, IBS is noticeable before the cycle, and when bleeding dry up, headache is waiting next in line, it’s hormonal regulation that works on the blood vessels, the Internet says. In a few more days, lower abdominal cramping shows ovaries in production. When that settled, followed by a few days of vigorous, not long before the next cycle started again with IBS worsen my ass pain.

I’m so tired that my body is being kidnapped this way. People can’t do whatever they want, it's worse than a sack bag. At least the sack bag doesn't feel pain, and no thoughts. Even if healthy, they are not luckier, bound by thoughts all the time.

Before Chinese New Year I went back to the office to collect the New Year's goodie bag, take the chance cleanup the desk that had been vacant for a year. The expired snacks in the drawers, moldy stationery and sundries, withered flowers, dead plants and dry dirt were loaded into four trash bags. I carried them to the pantry to dump in the giant trash bin.

I saw the ointment in the drawer, reminding me the past when I used to apply some after the toilet in company washroom. The long corridor, full of memory of the pain I carried in my ass on the way back to office, but forgotten when I got on the desk. It has been mild.

When you are bound by a thought, you will forget about pain. Naturally you become a slave to your own thought, serve that thought, eat, drink, and sleep for it.

The thought, the master you served as a servant, including for example work, meetings, reports, worrying about one thing or another. Or, children’s exam grades, school work, elderly parents’ medical report. Or less stressful, reading a book, watching a movie, forgetting oneself for the plot.

Unless sickness and the effects of aging start to shake that service, only then you really notice yourself, your body, notice it as a malfunction sack bag. In this circumstance, still reading, but being used as a means of distracting and relieving pain. The process of reading is no longer smooth, sometimes even struggling over the sentences. I feel like an old printer. Consumables, my brain, the medium, is not reliable. Instead of printing out paper, each sentence is like writing into the memory of my brain with an effort, then soon forgotten. Sometimes I read a book halfway only to find out I had read it a few years ago.

Consumables are of course unreliable. Aging is easy to detect, like the sour smell in pajamas worn all day. As I’m getting older, more and more bacteria and fungi have settled in my body. No wonder mankind invented perfumes.

One day I replaced the nail film for manicure. Recently, I have been feeling the touch pain from one of my big toes. I thought it was because the nail was too long. After using nail tools to investigate, I found out that the onychomycosis was growing inward towards the bone. I used a needle to pick the gray fungi, they started to fall apart, showing out a deep cave. The pain disappeared as they decomposed, the deep hole where the flesh was squeezed by the gray material now slowly closed by, and it didn't hurt anymore.

Like a surgical operation, I pose quite long to operate on my big toe, after that the whole day and the next I feel soreness in the thigh joints. Later, I notice that any bones and joints that were held for a longer time still will become stiff as if they were stuck. I would get up and move around until the crunching mechanical sound subsided. Aging is so natural, inevitable, but unacceptable.

The shopping mall that I often go to for groceries, opposite the main gate under a row of trees, there is an arch stone bench. Often I saw old people sitting there. Either waiting for family members to shop inside the mall, or just take a slow walk from the residence nearby to see the lively traffic and crowd. There is an old man who is very old, maybe over ninety, with white skin and brown age spots, sitting there motionless like a plant. If there are not so many dark colored spots, it will be more like a stone sculpture.

I did not go out today. This has been true for many days. Without makeup, I wore the same pajamas all day after waking up, smelling the sourness but ignoring it. It is not very different on weekdays or weekends. This month is not as cold as last month, maybe I should not say “cold” in equator, mainly I mean cool as it is not raining much, I still sweat when basking on the balcony during the day. The shade is good, windy, and at night the breeze is very cool. Now I am sitting at the dining table with my back facing the balcony door and typing, and I need long sleeves outside my pajamas.

Before sleep my elder daughter passby asks strangely why I am in a long-sleeved jacket. I said it was cold. She was surprised. She said that it was cold last month and it is already very hot now. She turn on the air conditioner together with fan wherever she goes. She has inner heat burning at her youth age. But it striked me that maybe I felt cold only because I’m getting old, the lava like inner youth which generating heat and vigor is going to expire.

I am reading the last episode of 《Emma》. In June, during the strawberry picking season, with friends Emma took his father to Mr. Knightley’s residence garden. The young men and women walked around in the garden picking strawberries while resting and eating under the shade of the trees. It was too hot. Emma's father, Mr. Woodhouse, stayed in the living room by the stove fire, to keep him warm. He no longer generates heat, and he is not far from death.

I nearly wish to sleep all the time. Often drowsiness after dinner. One good thing, I am not the type who wakes up early when getting old. I can sleep for twelve hours on weekends if no alarm wakes me up. But I still feel tired and sleepy. Unwilling to move, lazy to go out or swimming downstairs and so on.

Every night I go to bed and lie down covered myself with a soft quilt, I wish I don't have to wake up again, like a rehearsal. To be able to sleep all the time like a plant. Death is simply sitting at the door and waiting, knocking on it from time to time to ask "Are you ready?"

Recently, there has been many news going around about local accidents, such as car racing accidents, lover killings, and students jumping off buildings. There was also a woman who was running in the park with noise-reducing earphones and was killed by falling tree branches. Car racing and love affairs and jumping off the building may be I can avoid, but the branches above my head are simply lore.

I carefully studied the coverage and options of my commercial insurance contracts. I decided my children are still too young, I need to borrow another ten years. Like the library, every day is borrowed and returned. The librarian, the death, kept my promise. I am like the refrigerator deodorant at home. As long as I am alive, let me absorb the bad luck for my family and make the best use of it.

My daily task is to work and spend my salary to support family expenses. My pastime is to buy things. In addition to the regular cooking oil, rice, eggs and milk, I also have to play the role of running errands. From time to time I receive the task from my daughters to go to the bookstore and stationery. Buy a purple ballpoint pen, a model ruler, and punch folders. The annual bonus come, I just simply clear my shopping cart.

At work, for colleagues, for neighbors, for parents and children, I have multiple role to play, all of which are hallucinations, protagonists, tricks, and cutscenes. At night, off stage, the true self out last. As long as I get through the toilet, climb on to the bed and cover myself with a soft quilt. It is a relief. But it's so short. I really don't want to close my eyes and open it again to see another day.

Communication with friends and other acquaintances are not daily life necessities, therefore can be completely avoided. If necessary, I only want to communicate in text. Sit with family members on both sides of the dining table, hold mobile phones to send messages in the group chat, send photos of dinner, text with daughter sitting next to myself, sharing funny photos, snapshot of search engine for "social fear", "selective autism". It seems that the purpose of giving birth to daughters like myself is to have someone to communicate with.

Some people have known each other lifetime, yet still unfamiliar. In retrospect, some people have only known each other a few years, and then stop there, vanished, no news, but those years were like a single life time, and they would still been wandering about in your mind as if they were everywhere.

前阵子安倍退休的热门新闻过后，我自我诊断为IBS大肠激躁症。

症状相当吻合。每到重要会议发言或约了人事务性见面都会大肠紧张，容易拉肚子，现阶段最怕的就是不按常规时间上厕所，后果很严重，接下来一整天必须忍受屁股疼，又没法躺下来睡一觉好好休息恢复。听从网文的建议我开始经常买益生菌奶制品，每天坚持喝，希望能get到好细菌，安慰我可怜的大肠。似乎有效果，痛感有逐渐减轻的趋势，恢复也提速了。

人类是非常健忘的动物。好了伤疤忘了痛。我强调“逐渐”，一个月以来，改换作息方式以后，每晚睡前如厕，之后直接上床休息的话很好忍，还大半可以很快睡过去。早上醒来又一切正常。周六晚上我允许自己逃过一劫，周日睡个大懒觉，起床如厕后再躺回床上，通常午饭时间也恢复了。可是月经邻近又恶化。

我在网上查更年期什么时候开始，是因为接近尾声吗，为什么一个月里月经周期的每个阶段都有花样，出血期疲乏困倦肚子疼不必说，之前几天肠易激屁股疼，之后每隔几天凡是有荷尔蒙调节都有阶段症状，头疼期，小腹绞筋期，精力旺盛期也就那么几天，还没消停几天一个月又接下一个月。人活这么累，不能随心所欲，还不如面口袋。面口袋没有病痛，也没有想法。

人类即使没有病痛，也是无时不刻不被想法束缚着的。

过年前回办公室领年货时顺便收拾了一下空置一年的办公桌。抽屉里过期的零食，发霉文具杂物，枯萎的花花草草，一连装了四个大垃圾袋送去茶水间的大垃圾桶。收拾抽屉时看到药膏，想起来过去早上在公司如厕会涂些药膏，从走廊走回来的路上屁股疼的感受，应该是和现在差不多的，可是还是相当温和吧，因为一坐上工位就忘记了。

当人被一个想法束缚，就自然而然变成想法的奴隶，哪怕那是你自己的想法，你必须侍奉那想法，为它吃喝拉撒睡，完全投入。比如工作，开会，写报告，为某件事或某个人烦恼。孩子的成绩，学业，父母的身体状况，医院检查报告。看书看电影也是，穿越进剧情里，忘了自身，俗称忘我。

除非病痛，衰老的影响，开始动摇那侍奉，才真正注意到自身。看书被当成分散注意力止痛的手段，不再顺畅，有时突然吃力，出戏，感觉自己像老旧的打印机，耗材是大脑，一句句读进来但是很费力写不进记忆，看完就忘。有时一本书读到一半才想起来好像几年前读过。耗材当然靠不住。

衰老是很容易察觉的，好像穿一整天的睡衣里的酸臭味。当我渐渐老去，越来越多的细菌真菌在我身上安家落户。怪不得人类要发明香水。

有一天我替换美甲贴膜修指甲，近来一直隐隐感觉大脚趾触碰疼，以为是指甲太长，用了美甲工具深究才发现是灰指甲长势凶猛，像脚趾骨头方向进发，占位膨胀。我用针挑那些灰色的真菌，它们像土方一样瓦解，露出一个很深的岩洞，是原来的指甲肉被那些灰色物质挤开的深洞，现在随着灰色物质的分解深洞慢慢合拢，脚趾也不疼了。

因为像外科手术一样，需要把大脚趾靠近视线很近的距离操作剪指甲的动作，僵持久了，当天以及之后的一天仍然觉得大腿关节酸疼。后来我发现，任何姿势保持时间长一些骨头关节都好像黏合了一样僵硬，要不时起来活动一下，直到嘎吱嘎吱的机械声响消退。衰老是如此天经地义，不可避免，却令人难以接受的事。

我想起日常采购经常去的商场门口对面，一排树下歇脚的地方，经常有老人坐在哪里，可能是在休息，等待家人购物，也可能只是从附近居民区散步来这里看看人气。有一个老人年纪很大了，也许九十多，皮肤很白，遍布褐色的老年斑，像植物一样一动不动的坐在那里。如果没有那么斑斓的斑点，会更像石雕。

今天我没有出门。很多天来都是如此。没有化妆，起床后一整天就穿着同一套睡衣。工作日或周末也没有很大的不同。这个月没有上个月那么冷，但是因为不怎么下雨了，白天在阳台上晒晒太阳还是会出汗，阴凉里就很好，风很大，很凉快。晚上风更大，现在我背对着阳台门坐在餐桌上打字，睡衣外要套件长袖的才好。大女儿问我为什么穿长袖外套，我说冷啊，她很意外，说上个月才冷，现在已经很热了。她到哪里都要开空调，可以想象是很年轻很热气的人。但是我也是因此才意识到，也许觉得冷不是因为天气，而是我不再年轻，像岩浆一样产生内热的青春元素已经消失殆尽。

正在看《Emma》最后一节，六月天，摘草莓的季节，Emma带爸爸去Knightley先生的庄园，年轻人在园子里走来走去摘了草莓树荫下边休息边吃 ，热到不行，Emma的爸爸木屋先生呆在房间里火炉旁边。

自身不再产生热，也就离死不远了。还有一直想睡觉也是。晚饭后容易困。我不是年纪大了会早醒的类型，不用上闹钟的话周末可以睡十二小时，但是起来很累，很困。说要出门，下楼游泳什么的，都懒得像泥，不愿意动。而每晚上床躺下盖上柔软大被子就不想醒来了。能一直睡觉像植物一样多好，结果每天晚上睡觉就都像彩排。死亡简直就是在门口坐着等，还时不时敲敲门问“好了没”。

最近很多本地意外事件的新闻，飙车车祸，情杀，学生跳楼。还有带着防噪耳机在公园跑步的女子被落下的树枝砸死。就是大风的缘故吧。飙车情杀和跳楼也许是我可以避免，但是头顶的树枝简直是绝杀。仔细研究了一下商业保险合同书涵盖范围年限和选项，孩子还太小，还是向天再借十年。这么说起来每过一天回到床上都好像去图书馆借一天还一天。

我就像家里的冰箱除臭剂，只要我还活着，能吸收一下家人的坏运气也算物尽其用。我的任务是工作，用薪水供养家庭开支，我的消遣是买东西，除了常规的买油，买米，买鸡蛋牛奶，还要充当跑腿的角色，从女儿那里收到任务，去书店文具店买紫色圆珠笔，model ruler, 打孔文件夹。

对工作，对同事，对邻居，对父母对孩子要扮演一个又一个角色，都是幻觉，主角，龙套，过场。晚上才是真实的自我，只要度过上厕所的难关，爬上床盖上柔软的被子，如释重负，终于有了完全属于自己的时间，只可惜太短暂了，实在不想合上眼再一睁开又是一天。

所以对朋友之类不是生活必须的交流就可以完全免了，一定要的话，我只想文字交流。和家人坐餐桌两侧拿着手机在群里发消息，发晚餐的照片，和坐旁边的女儿文字聊天，发动图表情，搞笑图片，分享搜索截图“社交恐惧”，“选择性自闭”。好像生出和自己一样的女儿，就是为了有选择的人和自己交流。

有的人认识了一辈子，抬头不见低头见，还是那么陌生。有的人回想起来交往接触只有短短几年，后来就音信全无，但是那几年就像单独的一生，之后就游魂不散好像无处不在。