You know, I love my body. I really do. We have a great little partnership going on. I feed it well with healthy foods, exercise, breathe, that kind of thing, and this body takes care of everything else. Walks, talks, processes the food, makes use of the air, gets stronger from the exercise. Heck, the thing sings, for goodness’s sake, vibrating with rich sound till I can feel it more than I can hear it.
However, I do have one teeny, tiny, liiiittle complaint about how things work. My body, you see, is a stickler for contracts. Seriously. I violate one line of “Duties of the party of the first part,” and the bod decides it can do whatever the heck it wants. Example: I take a few days (just a few!) to eat junk — chocolate, sugar, refined foods, whatever — and this is where I spend my life:
Really, body? What the crap?
And by the way, that thing you do when I skip a little sleep isn’t cool either.
But what really gets me is the sneakiness. For some reason, the bod hates it when I get stressed out. You know, a lot’s happening so you lose a little sleep, eat a little poorly, skip exercise (takes toooo muuuuch tiiiiime!), and spend most of your time worrying about all the catastrophic things that could happen to ruin your concert/church activity/girls’ night out/re-enactment of the battle for Endor/etc. No big deal, right? A little anxiety never hurt anyone.
The bod hates that. In the past, it’s combated my anxiety lapses with headaches, internal distress, sleep deprivation, and mysterious chest pains. However, we’re used to each other. I know how melodramatic the bod is, and I ignore these things. So what’s it do?
Tells the heart to relax.
And what does the heart do?
Yeah, decide that bod’s right — it works hard. I put it through a lot. What’s forgetting to show up to work every once in a while?
I’m all about long weekends, but this is a little ridiculous.
The best part is the fact that bod has finally found something that I can’t go to the doctor and get a pill for. EKGs, blood panels, and the answer all comes back the same — the docs echo the body; harmless, nothing you can do about it, relax.
Relax?! I can’t relax! I’m too busy having FUN! (Yup. My face looks just as crazed as you just imagined, only more so.)
On the plus side, I can now announce to anyone who cares to listen that I have heart palpitations. They make me feel appropriately Victorian. Maybe DB will get me a fainting couch for my birthday. And we thought all that Brit Lit in college was a waste of time!