I don’t feel well today. I was sent home from work yesterday due to almost throwing up and, given the benefits of a real job with sick leave, was debating calling in today. I did, indeed, end up calling in. I initially felt slightly guilty, thinking “well I may feel better in a couple of hours” until my boss stated something along the lines of “well tomorrow I NEED you to be at that mandatory meeting that I just pulled out of my ass.” I may have embellished his exact phrasing a little, but that is the general gist of the matter.

I’m re-reading this book, out of what I suppose is a somewhat morbid curiosity. I’m not marked as an organ or body donor, though I remember the distinct feeling that I should be the first time I read this particular author’s research and interviews. I am, essentially, a piece of meat. I am reminded of this each time I don’t feel well. My family has odd qualms about body and organ donation, along with cremation. This is not uncommon in traditional Hispanic culture. It’s also not uncommon to make a papier-mâché effigy of Judas Iscariot and beat the everloving crap out of it with a stick until he bleeds candy. Modern day Hispanic culture (or just culture, in general) has deemed that the effigy can be of a beloved cartoon character, which seems all the more odd to me. I don’t understand how Dora the Explorer scales with Judas. I also don’t understand how wailing on an effigy is a sanctioned activity for children during the holidays, but possibly giving my liver to someone after I am no longer using it will prevent me from resurrecting come Christ.

I’m going to go lay down.