My organs speak a foreign language

This post was inspired by the wonderful Ombudsben’s burrito story, which you should read because it will make you laugh. Well, it made me laugh, what’s wrong with you?

I am now 37 years old and I *still* do not listen to my stomach… which undoubtedly explains a great deal about various wobbly bits, quite apart from making me wonder which of my other organs I am consistently ignoring.

Ferrinstance, my stomach regularly communicates information such as “Okay, you can stop now, we’ve reached an elegant sufficiency, no need to keep shovelling it in up there. Seriously, stop now, you silly cow, you’ll make yourself sick.” But do I stop when there are still chips left on the plate or chocolate left in the wrapper? No, I do not. Apparently, Stomachish is a language I do not speak. A foreign tongue, if you’ll forgive me mixing my body part metaphors…

Either that or – as Ombudsben points out – my tastebuds and arms are in fiendish league against my stomach in some kind of diabolical scheme to give me the silhouette of a hippo.

Anyway, the point is that not only do I not listen to my stomach’s sensible urgings, my intestines’ well-intentioned reminders are also cast aside with gay abandon whenever I can’t be bothered to walk the extra 5 minutes to the deli (“Cow’s milk Bad: Goat’s milk Good”). I also treat messages from my feet with the kind of disdain normally only reserved for a spouse one is gleefully divorcing (“Those shoes rub blisters if you walk more than 15 minutes in them. Remember what happened last time, fool. See? I told you so.”).

So, it will come as no surprise that I usually don’t listen to my heart, either.

Normally my brain is on constant ‘send’ to my heart, with absolutely no ‘receive’ tolerated. And as for my limbic system, which supposedly controls my emotions, well that gets about as much attention as my endocrine system – the one nominally in charge of hormones and, thus, desires and urges. (“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. He doesn’t fancy you, your friends are imagining it, so you might as well not even think about it. Tra-la-laaaa, I can’t heeeaaarrr yooouuuuu.”)

Somewhat fortuitously, however, this week brain, heart and hormones are in perfect accord. No undignified disagreements or pointless petulance 🙂

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7 Responses to My organs speak a foreign language

  1. piereth says:

    I give this a cautious ‘hooray!’ and am looking forward to hearing another installment!!

    ps that thing about stomachs and ignoring their weak cries of satiety – me too. So me too. I’d keep eating till I popped.

  2. Fugitive Pieces says:

    We are not bloody imagining it. Will you please listen to the perfect major chord that your organs are playing, and go get ‘im?

  3. And all with amateur alliteration.

    { Little note for you on my blog today ;)}

  4. woo says:

    piereth – ah yes, all niceness at this end. I genuinely have a mate staying with me and it is very good. Although I’d forgotten how unused I am to a) having a male in my house and b) any kind of physical contact with a male. Friendly hugs are actually quite nice, once you’re used to them, even if both parties are slightly awkward. 🙂

    Fugitive Pieces – we went to see him sing in the Requiem on Saturday night. Extraordinary performance, the Lacrimosa actually gave me goosebumps. But look, s’riously, if he was interested in me he’d have asked me out by now, which he hasn’t, so he’s not.

    Archie – ooooh, excellent, I’ll be right over!

  5. Well, I am deaf to my stomach. I’m not sure it has a voice. Maybe I just don’t listen so good. I loved reading your conversations with your body parts, though. Strictly speaking, your feet are not really organs, rather they are appendages, but they seem to have the loudest and most rational voice.

  6. woo says:

    Good point – they are not organs. Perhaps that is why I ignore them at my peril…!

  7. robodad says:

    Ignoring most of your body parts is fine, but please please please do not ignore your bladder.

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