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Jul. 12th, 2006 02:10 pmApproximately July 11-12, 2006
Millways Bar
DEAR BODY:
You are the worst roommate ever, and I hate you.
Love,
The Brain.
DEAR BRAIN:
Possibly you'd like to check the lactic acid levels in our mutually shared bloodstream before making another comment like that. TOTALLY not my idea.
Love,
The Body.
DEAR BODY:
I am not the one who said 'ooh, a frail squishy mortal form evolved from a bunch of jumped-up monkeys, what a great idea, I think I'll move in!' Honestly, do you think I wanted to be subject to this?
Love,
The Brain.
DEAR BRAIN:
I'll cede your point on the ancestral evolutionary frailties, especially since I've got that damnable intersection between the respiratory and digestive tracts to work with, but I'm going to have to call you on the latter part. If it was up to me, we'd have been asleep HOURS before this. HOURS, I tell you. And for a nice long time too.
Love,
The Body.
DEAR BODY:
All right, all right, in the interests of fairness I'll accept that you've managed to keep us alive when I've been too busy to really notice what we're doing, but honestly! WTF is up with the blood chemistry? Don't you have some kind of, I don't know, filtration system to work with that? What are we paying the liver and spleen for?
Love,
The Brain
DEAR BRAIN:
As a matter of fact, we're paying them overtime. Allow me to point out that I WANTED TO SLEEP YESTERDAY BUT YOU WOULDN'T LET US. The filtration organs can only do so much at a time. They need a break same as the rest of us.
Love,
The Body
DEAR BODY:
Oh, STFU. This is important. I don't need chemical weirdness inducing nightmares and disrupting everything else that's supposed to be going on. REM time is supposed to let me sort out the extra material we've accumulated and slot it into places where it can be disposed of or allowed to make sense. Not make me want to cut open the cranium and crawl off to find a nice jar in a brightly lit laboratory to live in!
Love,
The Brain.
DEAR BRAIN:
You wouldn't be GETTING those nightmares if you'd JUST LET US SLEEP MORE OFTEN.
No Love,
The Body
DEAR BODY:
What d'you call that stint in the Zero Room, then?
Yrs.,
The Brain
DEAR BRAIN:
I call it 'not nearly enough'.
Sincerely,
The Body
DEAR BODY:
Jerk.
Signed,
The Brain.
DEAR BRAIN:
That can be arranged.
Ta,
The Body.
DEAR BODY:
... um, ew. I didn't mean it like that.
Sincerely,
The Brain.
DEAR BRAIN:
If it's really that important I should remind you that we still have a dose of Agent K's sleep compensators left over from the Danny incident. The chemistry's gonna be even more of a mess once they wear off, but if you need clarity that badly, you know where to find it.
Signed,
The Body.
DEAR BODY:
.... I'll think about it.
Love,
The Brain.
Millways Bar
DEAR BODY:
You are the worst roommate ever, and I hate you.
Love,
The Brain.
DEAR BRAIN:
Possibly you'd like to check the lactic acid levels in our mutually shared bloodstream before making another comment like that. TOTALLY not my idea.
Love,
The Body.
DEAR BODY:
I am not the one who said 'ooh, a frail squishy mortal form evolved from a bunch of jumped-up monkeys, what a great idea, I think I'll move in!' Honestly, do you think I wanted to be subject to this?
Love,
The Brain.
DEAR BRAIN:
I'll cede your point on the ancestral evolutionary frailties, especially since I've got that damnable intersection between the respiratory and digestive tracts to work with, but I'm going to have to call you on the latter part. If it was up to me, we'd have been asleep HOURS before this. HOURS, I tell you. And for a nice long time too.
Love,
The Body.
DEAR BODY:
All right, all right, in the interests of fairness I'll accept that you've managed to keep us alive when I've been too busy to really notice what we're doing, but honestly! WTF is up with the blood chemistry? Don't you have some kind of, I don't know, filtration system to work with that? What are we paying the liver and spleen for?
Love,
The Brain
DEAR BRAIN:
As a matter of fact, we're paying them overtime. Allow me to point out that I WANTED TO SLEEP YESTERDAY BUT YOU WOULDN'T LET US. The filtration organs can only do so much at a time. They need a break same as the rest of us.
Love,
The Body
DEAR BODY:
Oh, STFU. This is important. I don't need chemical weirdness inducing nightmares and disrupting everything else that's supposed to be going on. REM time is supposed to let me sort out the extra material we've accumulated and slot it into places where it can be disposed of or allowed to make sense. Not make me want to cut open the cranium and crawl off to find a nice jar in a brightly lit laboratory to live in!
Love,
The Brain.
DEAR BRAIN:
You wouldn't be GETTING those nightmares if you'd JUST LET US SLEEP MORE OFTEN.
No Love,
The Body
DEAR BODY:
What d'you call that stint in the Zero Room, then?
Yrs.,
The Brain
DEAR BRAIN:
I call it 'not nearly enough'.
Sincerely,
The Body
DEAR BODY:
Jerk.
Signed,
The Brain.
DEAR BRAIN:
That can be arranged.
Ta,
The Body.
DEAR BODY:
... um, ew. I didn't mean it like that.
Sincerely,
The Brain.
DEAR BRAIN:
If it's really that important I should remind you that we still have a dose of Agent K's sleep compensators left over from the Danny incident. The chemistry's gonna be even more of a mess once they wear off, but if you need clarity that badly, you know where to find it.
Signed,
The Body.
DEAR BODY:
.... I'll think about it.
Love,
The Brain.
