It begins when I think I can do an end run around my body.
I know, right? But I try, don’t I, all the same.
Most of the time, I act as though this bag of blood and bones and organs will pulse along no matter what I do to it, no matter how I fuel it or drive it or ignore it, no matter how minimally I maintain it. All the things I do while I subconsciously tell myself, “The body won’t mind. We’re friends; we’ve been together forever. We’ve always gotten along. No problem.”
Most days I go through life this way. Sleepwalking.
Pretty bad, yes? But then the waking is worse.
This morning I rolled out of bed, slipped out of my sleeping clothes (let’s not pretend and call them “pajamas” or anything that fancy; they’re mostly looser, more comfortable day clothes like sweat pants and t-shirts…
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