Diablevert

On the Mind-Body Disconnect

As a point of consideraton on the topic of Cartesian dualism, I now relate the following anecdote:

The other morning I was lying abed, thinking idly of what I should wear to work that day and rueing that my selections were so limited by the fact that most of my clothes were at the laundromat, when I heard a banging sound emenating from the kitchen. Whatever can that be? I wondered, mildly irritated. I shall inquire of my roomate when I get up to take a shower. I put on my robe and tossed a towel over my shoulder, emerging from my room to obseve my roomate Strunk standing by the sink, turning over something in his hands.

I am one of those Not A Morning Person people, and being sans shower and coffee, it was with something less than my accostomed fluidity and ease of speech that I now attempted to formulate my thoughts into words. I turned to Strunk and said,

"What you bang?"

"Hmmm?" he said. "Oh, it's this travel mug, it's broken, see the rim here..."

After a moment's pause for consideration, I rejoined, "Why break mug?"

"I didn't break it, the liner's got seperated from the outer shell and ---" he said, looking up at me. "No break mug. Fix mug. Fix mug."

"Hurmph," I said, and proceeded to my morning ablution.

This legendary moment in inarticulateness has been brought to you by the letter Zzzz, the vitamin Q, and Juan Valdez.