Abigail M. Schilling

You're obsessed with finding a new brain
But what you need is a new body
It feels your brain has lived a thousand lives before
And the skin you call your home
Holds a heart that quits and knees that buckle in
And lungs that can't breathe when they're alone

My body and I don't really get along. We never really have. I get sick every five months or so. It just happens. I work hard and play hard and my body says quit it.

Finally, my body wins out. It's never convenient. It's never fun.

And I wait for it. I'm always waiting for it looming around the corner.

We were in a movie Friday night and I started to feel the tickle at the back of my throat. I made a deal with myself to make it to Monday and then I would relax. And I did it. I didn't start dying until Sunday night.

The great thing about having a real job is that they pay you to be sick. It's amazing. So today I didn't feel the usual guilt about not working and I didn't start to feel the suffocation of what-if-I-don't-make-rent because I was getting paid to lay at home and blow my nose. Every ten seconds. This is just another of the countless ways that having a steady job has changed my life.

And while I sat at home blowing my nose, whining, and all around pitying myself, I got some laundry done, I powered through some of Dawson's Creek, and I even made another cake for the house.

I loathe being sick, but sometimes it seems it's the only way my body can get me to slow down. And I hate having that conversation with myself.

EDIT: Gross oversight: I listenened to Dooce's Podcast from SXSW. I love her.