I haven't made it a habit of having dialogues with my organs, but I thought I should at least give this a try--stretch those creative muscles, right? I'm hoping that somewhere in the process I can look upon this exercise as someting more than a gimmick, a timely feature on the editorial calendar. I'm hoping that I can reconnect with you, as I have faint glimpses of what being connected to you feels like, and I miss it.
I know you are still working it, heart. I can tell you are when I watch things like weddings and presidential inaugurations and get weepy. I know you played a role when I chose my husband, a choice that I made independent of what was reasonable. I mean Santa Cruz? Oy! Those treks to his place were insane. And then the whole grad school thing to boot! The brain wanted an "established guy" but you won that one, heart. You said stick it out, you want to be with this guy, even if he lives in a 7' by 10' space underneath some woman's basement. You knew that this was just a temporary arrangement. And you knew that I'd bored myself with others, or been with others that would never take care of you. Sometimes I swear you are prescient. It's weird, going to bed at night, looking over at this person I chose--you chose, really--and knowing I did OK on this one.
I know you get bowled over often by my brain. My brain is the uppity child, the squeaky wheel. You should know that I don't prefer him over you, Sweetie, I just manage him differently. He's more demanding; he talks constantly. But you've noticed that I've been trying not to listen to him so much. He gets his way during the day, then I quiet him down. The yoga has been helping, right? My favorite part is when we have to take Savasina, and I get to listen to you.
I read things that make me worry about you. Things about stress and its long-term toll. As far as I can tell, you are aging great. Though I thought you might have been trying to tell me something at the end of this year, when I was on a business trip and my entire left side locked up. You forced me to put my stuff down and lay on the floor and do absolutely nothing. I was really pissed, then really scared because I thought that maybe you were in trouble. Was I having a heart attack?
I know it was just a muscular thing, but I can't help but think that you had something to do with it. You were trying to say something: Don't neglect me, or I might really explode.
I know you've been keeping quiet because times are tough, and I'm an incredibly busy person. Why start yammering about taking exotic trips, or having a mini-you to dote on? You think I'm much too important to address those indulgences. Projects are due, business trips are coming up. But you should know that, when things get quiet, I hear you.
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