There are some things in life that should never be thought about. Take, for instance, your insides. Yes, your guts. Your actual guts. The ugly, nasty, bloody mess of your insides. No one wants to see that unless they’re paid to or they harbor some horrific fetishes.
Think about it for a second and realize that you don’t think about it.
Unless it causes you problems.
Right now I have a tiny camera working it’s way through my plumbing. You heard that right. I swallowed one of those cameras the size of a gargantuan vitamin used for diagnostic purposes. It’s there, floating around, like a tiny submarine of bad news. If it doesn’t lodge itself in my digestive tract, then it will come out the other side and tell me that I’m either sick or crazy. Trust me, there is a difference. I just never really wanted to find out which side I’m on.
This camera is currently taking pictures of my unseemly side. The inner depths of everything I take in, to be shat out at a later time. It monitors the destruction of creation and the construction of waste. It is gathering information on how well I process shit.
There is something troubling about that. I’ve prided myself on my ability to deal with shit and now this thing, this tiny torpedo of shit stories, is going to grade me. I’m usually so good at being graded but now I find myself closely watching a tiny blinking blue light while I wander aimlessly through a shopping mall in my pajamas. This is my last step before gaining a label of insanity.
Although, some would say I’ve already been breathing that label in, deeply.
My point is this:
We live our lives without acknowledging that what’s inside really exists but the inside cannot live without being aware of us. Some might say, we are it’s world. (Yes, dad, I stole your line.) If we took the time to give it attention every once and a while, would that prevent the need to wait for the blue light to stop blinking?
Or will we always be at the mercy of how well we process shit?