Last night, I was up all night throwing up--partly from the massive amounts of Mongolian BBQ I ate on Sunday, I'm sure; partly, I imagine, from worrying about the state of the world, and partly from the still-mysterious causes that make me throw up all night every few months or so. I am trying to convince myself to go to bed, convince myself that it's not going to happen again tonight. As in love as I am with the human body, it sure can be unpredictable, sure can be a pain. As I spent the night cramping and heaving, I tried to tell myself that the experience was helping me get in touch with all the suffering in the world, that it was helping me feel connected to those buried in rubble in Pakistan, those clawing through mud in Nicaragua. Of course, my stomach troubles pale in comparison; my pain is so small connected to the larger pain of the world. But I think my stomach does try to take on the pain of the world, sometimes; I think sometimes my body rebels when I just can't stomach what's happening. My body manifests my feelings of lack of control, of helplessness in the face of destruction, of disaster, of loss. I hope my body will understand that it doesn't need to take that on, that it's when I'm feeling healthy and strong that I can begin to address these issues, that I can try to do something about them. I hope I'll wake up in the morning feeling ready to take on the world, ready to be part of the world, rather than feeling the weight of the world in my gut.