There are many reasons I find it hard to accept that my body is nothing more than an over-hyped machine, spuriously and sickeningly romanticised by other people with the same equipment like some sort of insufferable PS3 fanboy club. Even considering that this might be the truth upsets me and has led to many debates in which I come across as some sort of religious nut and my opponent smirks at me with a quiet acknowledgement of their intellectual superiority.
So today I offer proof.
This is the day I find out whether Sarah Lawrence will allow me to grace their hallways. This also marks the first time in around 9 years that I've actually bothered trying to do anything with my life and any failure will surely drive me to be an office worker of the most mundane kind for all eternity.
My mind has accepted this. I'm quite nervos but regardless my head has decided that what will be will be and as I have very little influence over the final decision short of winning the lottery and adding a wing to the place I should just relax and be content to live out my bland and dreary existance in peace.
Try telling that to my body which has subsequently decided that we are in Defcon1. I don't mean to be crude but that I can stray 5 metres from the bathroom to come type this up is nothing short of a miracle and if my teeth or my head could stop aching any time soon that would be an added bonus.
But of course they won't. Because that would mean I had some semblance of control over the damned thing. And I don't. So fuck you science.