A conversation between my mind and my stomach, for your amusement. Henceforth, my mind will be called M, and my stomach will be called S.
M: Hey, did you hear that?! We can eat gluten again!
S: Yippee!!! I’m hungry, let’s do this thing.
M: Oh look, there are cookies. Heads up, here they come!
S: Is it just me, or are these cookies strange?
M: What do you mean “strange”? They’re cookies.
S: Yeah, but M, I’m not so sure about this…
M: Oh my god, freshly baked rolls, S!!!
S: I’m not so sure that’s a good idea…
M: Too late, get ready.
S: Ooh…. You know M, I think we need to go to therapy. You really haven’t been listening to me lately. I try to talk to you and tell you how I feel, but it’s like talking to a wall.
M: Oh please, don’t be so melodramatic. Digest your gluten already, the cake’s going to be out of the oven soon.
S: I am not being melodramatic, M. My feelings are real.
M: Okay, yeah, sure.
S: You don’t believe me?!
M: No. I don’t. What are ya gonna do about it, huh?
S: Oh, I’ll show you what I’m going to do about it. I am sick and tired of this, M. A stomach’s gotta feel like it’s appreciated. I’m out.
M: Where, exactly, do you think you’re going to go? Out where?
S: Out of order.
Sometimes I wish we could be strangers, so I didn’t have to know your pain. –No Angel, Birdy