Dear Body (bane of my existence),
I understand that you are tired…fatigued…exhausted. I do. I really do. But when I say get out of bed, I mean get out of bed. I don’t mean roll around listlessly, mutter nonsense, and cover your head with a pillow to try and get rid of me. I mean GET.OUT.OF.BED. OUT---of the bed---the bed you are in---get out of it. NOW!!! I know you can hear me and I know you know what I’m saying. I refuse to let you make me not do anything today.
Love From,
Mind
P.S. I will plague you.
Dear Mind (frienemy of my undoing),
Thanks for your letter and your generous consideration of my plight of debility. I understand that you are awake…alert…properly functioning in every way---mostly--- in which I wish you weren’t. Don’t take this the wrong way, but please, for the love of all that is holy…be quiet. And by be quiet I mean: Shut…up…shut up…SHUT UP!!! Just. Stop. Thinking. For once, let it go. Let me sleep, rest, rejuvenate---without the constant barrage of you telling me things I should be doing instead. I refuse to let you get me out of this bed.
Always a pleasure Just always,
Body
P.S. Plague away.
2 comments:
I love this! Did you write it? It is very... almost poetic. I really captures that debate about getting up in the morning!
That's how I feel before headed to the gym. But instead of the word body, I use fat butt. =) You crack me up.
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