*
As I wandered through the smelly wilderness of puberty there was a young woman who always accompanied me, one who was passive and shy to fit the feminine stereotypes of the time. She was my Body. Like the typical foolish knight in an allegory, I neglected her and found her very unattractive, not stylish, not fashionable, awkward and coarse, not someone I wanted to be with. She accepted this -- what choice did she have? She stuck with me and, as a perverse response, I considered her to be the fool, not myself.
When she got sick, I ignored her. Her complaints got on my nerves. I tried to do whatever she didn't want.
I remember the first time I stood outside a pickup bar, wanting to go in but unable. There was an unwanted freezing in my chest and hands, cold sweatmarks on the forehead, a sudden inability to move. Who was responsible for that? It was my Body, thrashing inside me and saying: Oh sir, please don't go in there. It will hurt me badly, it will hurt you.
When I ignored her, what did she do? She just got old and grew very tired and resigned, the way Bodies do.
*
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