So that post of SJ's I linked to a few days ago? Turns out that is part of a larger project, via BlogHer, started by Suzanne Reisman two weeks ago. It's a hard thing to ask a woman to do, I think, writing a letter to her body. But 89 women have done it so far, according to the blog roll from that post, so I think I can suck it up and give it a try.
I would really like to write you the kind of letter I see other women writing to their bodies, full of insight and humor, apologies for past abuses and forgiveness. But I am not there yet. Body, I am still angry at you.
I have all of these expectations, and you persistently refuse to fulfill them. I expect to be able to eat what I want, not exercise, and have you stay the same size, but you don't. I expect that you'll allow me to breathe easily through all 12 months of the year, but you don't. I expect to be able to come to work and function properly every day, but as often as not you get sick and I have to pay the price. I'm sick of it. I want you to do what I tell you to do! I'm the boss here, not you!
Most of what you do to me I could forgive you for, or find a way to blame on myself. The weight gain, the worsening skin, even the constant demands for sleep and inability to tolerate red wine appropriately. But what is absolutely your fault and not mine, and unforgivable, is that you are allergic to everything. Every tree, every plant, every mold, every animal, every dust spore. Of all of the ways in which you have let me down, this is the most intolerable. You demand ever increasing pills, sprays, and tricks just to allow me to go on moving through my days. It is expensive, it is inconvenient, and it is completely and totally unfair.
I know you think I should be thanking you for the positive things you do for me--for being able to walk around, to see and smell and hear and touch, but I'm just not in the mood. You're doing a sub-par job and I am sick of it. If I had any other candidates for your position, I would fire you.