You're welcome for going to yoga. Any time.

My friends are all athletes or hippies, so I always hear how one or another of them is “listening to my body”. Listening to your body seems to be a bad business. Their bodies say horrible things like “no more sugar” or “no more wheat” or “better take a break in the middle of tournament season”. I try to avoid the whole practice.

I know for sure that my body is a crappy conversationalist. I stopped listening to my body five or six years ago, when the constant whisper of “baby, baby, baby, baby” became a full volume roar. My body can tell I’m not listening, so in addition to shouting “baby” at me on the ten seconds, it makes babies smell good and look perfect and it makes my breasts hurt when I hear a baby cry. Honestly? I don’t need that. I’m doing what I can with the options I’ve got. Unless my body wants to bring something new to the table, like parthenogenesis, I don’t want to hear it any more. (Oh, and body? While we’re on the topic? I can’t change the past and I wouldn’t if I could. Telling me I shouldn’t have abused my joints doing years of taekwondo isn’t helpful or constructive.)

Still, a message got through recently. I was trying to decide what I wanted to eat, and I couldn’t decide between a spinach salad, or scrambled eggs with spinach, or spinach lasagna. This was a subtle, tricky code, but I went all Alan Turing on that shit and deciphered that maybe I wanted spinach. I was even willing to get interpretivist, figure that I was anemic again and take a vitamin. See, this is the type of exchange I would like to have with my body. Straightforward notification, easy remedy. No bad news about types of food. No new injuries. And lay off about the baby.