An Open Letter to My Body from My Mind:

Dear Body,

Okay, I'll admit it straight out. I am a flawed mind. I may not always have the willpower to do everything that's best for you, even when I technically know what's best to do. Sure, I don't get enough sleep, or enough exercise, lately. I have a tendency to indulge in a bit too much chocolate from time to time. But it's almost always dark chocolate. And that has bioflavonoids, and antioxidants, and stuff! It's almost healthy for you! Remember? We read about it one time on the internet.

(And maybe I had a few too many drinks on two or three isolated occasions while we were in college. But I think you were secretly encouraging me the whole time anyway, because you have this side that's into all manner of debauchery the sort of which I DO NOT APPROVE that you know it's easier to trick a mind into when you intoxicate it).

Anyway, despite these transgressions I must point out that for the most part, I've taken pretty decent care of you thus far in our life. In fact, if you'd care to pay attention to my processing of optical information about other people lately, you might realize you have it pretty good.

I've kept us vegetarian, after all, for over a decade! We eat whole grains, and fruits and vegetables, and take our vitamins, every single day. We don't smoke, we don't drink soda, and we rarely drink alcohol anymore. As a result of these efforts on my part to resist, ahem, your outdated evolutionarily-encouraged urges, you are within the ideal medical weight range for our age and height.

We may not be all that athletically inclined, but it's not like we spend all of our free time sitting at the computer or watching television-- we lift weights, sometimes. We walk places that are within walking distance instead of taking the car. And I asked for that exercise ball for Christmas, just for you, when I could have gotten myself a DVD, or language practice software to brush up on my Hindi with, or something.

I even let you REPRODUCE yourself not very long ago, with the genetic assistance of a very fine male specimen we both picked out for lifetime emotional companionship and reproductive collaboration. Which, I might point out, is at least half the reason we don't get enough sleep and exercise these days. Not to mention the fact that the whole human-making-and-birthing process was really a MAJOR PAIN IN THE ASS. Figuratively and literally. And I'm planning to do it again sometime!

So, Body, please take into careful consideration the fact that I, our Mind, have really been pretty good to you over the past two and a half decades.

With that in mind (no pun intended, Bod), do you think that perhaps you could STOP IT ALREADY with the pain?

The lower back pain, the knee pain, the ankle pain. The impacted wisdom teeth (I'll get them taken out, already, okay? As soon as I can get the dental insurance company to stop whining and balking and actually cover it. I've been trying for six months straight. So stop complaining). The migraines. The costochondritis (I have to pick the baby up at least fifteen times a day every day. It won't stop for at least another year. And he's only going to get heavier. So suck it up already).

And, oh yeah, one more thing I would like you to stop doing, while we're discussing it. Those recurring ovarian cysts on our left side. Especially that.

Because you see, body, I know you've been storing that genetic material up there in that left ovary for future use ever since we ourselves were still in the womb. And if you keep scaring the crap out of me and ruining my productivity with this terrible, risky, painful habit you have of developing a cyst or two on that left ovary at least once every six to twelve months, I, your Mind, am going to have to ask a professional to TAKE THE WHOLE THING OUT. Then we'll only have one ovary left, just one, to regulate hormones and make babies with. Half of that precious genetic bank deposit, gone, just like that. Snip.

Your move, Body.

Thank you,

Your Mind.