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On whales and food metaphors.

The other night, the bf and I were watching this show called “Inside Nature’s Giants,” which we didn’t realize at first involves dissecting the big-ass animals of land and sea.  We chose to watch the episode about whales, because they’re frickin fascinating and also because I love tigers too much to watch one get cut up.  But I wish we had chosen the tigers, because the whole time they were slicing through the whale, and the fatty, slippery flesh was sliding all over the beach, and the scientists were covered in grease, I kept thinking about my body.  How that was probably what I looked like when the doctors were slicing me up and pulling off hunks of my blubber.  How that's still what my body feels like in places: loose, slippery, uncontained.

My classmates are always saying I have a very ‘descriptive’ touch when it comes to talking about my body, and my friend N pointed out that I frequently use food metaphors/similes, which is kind of interesting.  But I’m not sure it means anything.  Basically I find my own flesh to be so freakish and repugnant that I can’t think of anything to relate it to besides oozy, schloopy foods.  It’s certainly nothing like anybody else’s flesh I’ve ever seen.

I don’t really have a thought-out blog post in me about this, I just thought it was interesting and worth sharing.  After all, the point of this blog is to let you in on my sick, fucked-up mind and my twisted way of thinking about my body, right? 

Mission accomplished.
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