My body has been reacting badly to the idea of the new year, articulating its displeasure through itchy patches of skin. It started with the ribcage, quickly caught to the neck and behind the ear (a favored spot from childhood), extending its reach to upper calf of my leg (right below the knee) before finding the inner part of my elbow. (I'm dreading and hoping against that natural dialectic of symmetry.)
The rash's localization on the right side of my body actually leads me to believe that the affliction is largely psychological rather than a response to, say, the dry winter weather. This physical manifestation of mental weakness reminds me of school: specifically, Prof. George Lakoff's theory on embodiment. (In layman's terms, a theory that psychology/cognition arises from physiology.) It also reminds me of the body's grotesqueries. In spite of everything I've learned and taken from my biology and cogsci classes, I'm biased by a deeply seeded assumption of the body and mind's separation. It seems like the body is in a constant state of rebellion, something that has to be shaved and plucked, tanned, powdered, transformed with the christening of sweat, sweat that's both vile and humiliating and necessary for beauty. It seems unfair that some people are born tall and others short, some with bad eyesight and others with 20/20 vision. My thoughts are not the most brilliant but are hardly as horrible as my body. I can read my own thoughts but my body is a big opaque mass. I don't know what's going on in it or how the different parts work. And this possible ticking time bomb is the shelf on which my mind sits, an unsettling thought.
The only reason I was thinking about this, though, is because of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera. For Tereza, this duality is a way of achieving exceptionalism in a world full of undifferentiated and dirty bodies. (At least, as I read it.) It's an interesting book but I haven't gotten to read it for the past couple of days. Besides the fact that I've been busy going back to Tracy and also with New Year's, this is for a particular reason. While I was on the BART (the Fremont line) enjoying reading, a stranger struck a conversation with me; now I can't think of the book without thinking of the stranger. It wasn't a particularly bad (nor particularly amazing) exchange, but, well, let's just say that I don't like to be reminded of my tendencies toward deception...
Long this Saturday night because I've had nothing to do besides watch the two Resident Evil movies on TV (thank you, cable). Also, eat. God bless this winter vacation.
