When I was in the third grade, I loved to pee. Every day during class I dutifully raised my hand and asked, “Can I go to the bathroom, please?” Mrs. Bock’s eyes would stare at me from behind her wired glasses before muttering a dismissive yes. Soon my body was parked behind a light pink stall, my feet dangling a few feet from the ground. To say I liked to pee is really a lie; peeing itself every day during class was not really part of the equation. It was the bathroom. It was the glorious, peaceful, silent bathroom. No one to follow me into the stall. No one to demand anything of me. No multiplication or division. Just me and my pale porcelain friend. A slightly smelly break from the madness. I would stay there, sittin’ on the John, for a solid nine or ten minutes.

Soon, out of sheer necessity, my feet carried me back to the classroom, and the day would continue. One night my parents got a call from Mrs. Bock: “Does little Alyssa have a bowel problem? Maybe some sort of a weak bladder?”

What a good teacher, to be worried about my potentially impaired intestines.

My parents sat me down soon after and somberly looked into my eyes. They asked me that great golden ticket question: “why do you go to the bathroom so often?”

Welcome to my new blog, Just Stalling. My whole life I’ve had this transfixion with bathrooms. I often find myself there: in lieu of finding myself where I should be, in awkward social interactions, when I’m bored with the current happenings around me, when I need some time to think, when I need to check my phone, and for about a million other reasons besides using a bathroom for… you know… what it was meant for. This is blog is my quest to the answer that question, why do you go to the bathroom so often, and to share the stories and crap that happens in my life.