The court may be in session, but my colon has been advised to remain silent.
October 17, 2026
I have court.
Which means I will not be eating.
I will not be drinking.
I will not be consuming one single substance capable of reminding my digestive system that it has responsibilities.
I’m barely even going to be alive until after we have a ruling.
This is not because anyone told me to fast.
There are no medical instructions involved.
This is a preventative legal strategy developed entirely by a woman who knows her intestines cannot be trusted under pressure.
Some people get nervous before court and lose their appetite.
My digestive system gets nervous and starts preparing an evacuation plan.
My intestines have anxiety too.
It’s a total package around these parts.
Exhibit A: The Coffee
I drink coffee every day.
Coffee is part beverage, part personality trait, and part legally sanctioned reason to remain conscious.
Unfortunately, coffee also has a well-documented history of informing my bowels that it is time to begin morning operations.
That is manageable at home.
It is less manageable inside a courthouse while waiting for someone in a robe to make an important decision.
I cannot risk drinking coffee before court and having to shit during the good part.
Imagine surviving the paperwork, the waiting, the anxiety, the uncomfortable dress, and the entire emotional circus—only to miss the ruling because your colon decided that justice moves too slowly.
Absolutely not.
I refuse to return from the bathroom and whisper, “What happened?”
I need to be present.
Mentally, emotionally, and gastrointestinally.
The Emergency Motion
Court already comes with enough uncertainty.
You sit there waiting while your brain rehearses every possible outcome, including several that are not legally or physically possible.
Your heart is pounding.
Your hands are cold.
Your mouth is dry.
Every person who opens a door looks like they may be arriving with News.
Meanwhile, your stomach is in the corner shredding documents and preparing to flee the jurisdiction.
I know myself.
If I drink the coffee, my intestines will wait until the precise moment something important begins.
Not during the waiting.
Not during a break.
Not while everyone is standing around doing absolutely nothing.
During the good part.
The second someone says, “The court finds—”
My bowels will open the floodgates.
Then I’ll have to stand up in my nice dress and say:
“I’m sorry, but I need to leave immediately.”
Not walk.
Not calmly excuse myself.
Speed-walk to the nearest toilet before there is a cleanup on aisle jury.
Says the woman in the dress.
Nothing communicates dignity quite like clenching your ass cheeks in a courthouse hallway while trying to appear like a person who makes responsible adult decisions.
Counsel for the Colon
Anxiety is rude because it never limits itself to one department.
It does not simply live in your thoughts like a respectful little mental-health condition.
No.
Anxiety wants full-body participation.
The brain begins spiraling.
The heart starts auditioning for a drumline.
The lungs forget how breathing works.
The stomach gets involved despite having received no invitation.
Then the intestines enter the proceedings as hostile witnesses.
Every organ has something to say.
None of them have consulted me.
I am already trying to remember what I need to say, where I need to stand, how to answer questions, and whether my facial expression looks appropriately composed.
I do not also have time to negotiate with my colon.
“Can you hold it?”
No.
She cannot.
She has never held anything in her life except grudges and approximately fourteen pounds of stress and shit. Definitely shit.
Even though I just cleansed my colon less than a month ago.
But I know this bitch is holding out on me until the most inconvenient time.
My Pre-Court Meal Plan
Nothing.
That’s the plan.
No breakfast.
No coffee.
No suspiciously hydrating beverage.
No tiny snack that could awaken the beast.
I will survive entirely on panic and the vague promise of food later.
Is this medically recommended?
Probably not.
Is it emotionally understandable?
Absolutely.
I know some reasonable person will suggest eating something light.
A banana, perhaps.
Toast.
A protein bar.
That person has clearly never felt one anxious bubble move through their intestines five minutes before an important event.
I am not introducing variables.
This is court, not a gastrointestinal trust exercise.
The stomach remains empty until the ruling has been issued and I am safely within sprinting distance of a private bathroom.
Only then may normal bodily functions resume.
The Verdict
There is no moral here.
I am not about to tell you that anxiety taught me resilience or that my intestines and I reached a peaceful settlement.
We did not.
I simply know my body.
My body knows fear.
And apparently, fear knows exactly how to locate my colon.
So on court day, I will put on the dress.
I will bring my documents.
I will arrive prepared.
I will refuse nourishment like a Victorian woman awaiting news from the front.
And I will pray that every anxious organ in my body respects the dignity of the court.
May the odds be ever in their favor.
Because baby, these intestines have anxiety too.
Motion to suppress these bowels: respectfully fucking granted.
-EC 🌈
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