When I travel, I like to go to used bookstores. I end up lugging dozens of used books back home, to Canada. A few years ago, I was on a trip to Boston. In one respectable book shop, I found myself looking at a rotating display rack of erotic paperbacks from the 1950s. The books were displayed near the cash and sealed inside transparent plastic bags, partly to preserve the book, and partly to make them more tantalizing. By modern standards, the covers were sexy, but not shocking. The books were also cheaply priced. I bought two. …
“What if our thoughts and our actions only sync up some of the time?”
“I’m… sorry… what?”
“I said, what if our thoughts and our actions sync up some of the time? What if the person doing the thinking can have absolutely nothing to do with the person performing the actions? What if there are just two separate beings that, for the moment, seem to coincide? And some day, at some point, the two beings go entirely out of sync. Do you get what I’m saying?”
“Did… did you need to use the microwave? …
“It’s just stress,” the doctor said to me. And that was the end of the consultation. This was less than helpful.
The words, “it’s just stress,” were said to me throughout my childhood and well into my twenties and thirties. They were said when I went to a doctor with stomach pains, with dizzy spells, with migraine headaches, with jaw pain, with sinus pain.
The answer I got, over and over: “It’s just stress.”
The words were always said like this was the solution to my problems.
“Well, we looked into it, and it turns out there’s no medical condition…
I am a terrible person. I am on twitter as @lordjuiblex because he is the god of slime, sickness, and stupidity. Why don't you follow me? I am terrible.