Dear diary,

Last week I read a carton of yogurt and it got me thinking.

My body is comprised of millions of beings. Think of that. Millions and I have the gall to call it my body. My yogurt. My diary.

This body consists of groupings of smaller organisms that, through their chemical handshakes, somehow create my consciousness, my handsome face, and my carefree mobility. They also have spawned my me, an entity which rarely regards these single-celled patriarchs with more than a furrowed brow or disgusted nose crinkle. Until last week. I have taken my body's tenants for granted for far too long, but now--and I pledge this--now I make no decisions without a satisfactory quorum of approval. This vessle is not a me, but a we, and I do not wish to be the tyrant of my body.

This new democracy began with deciding what kind of music we should listen to. Apparently, despite my lengthy yet riveting presentation on the merits of prog rock, emo, and trip hop, most of my cells (I'll call them my we) are much more interested in the circadian beat of a day, the choral roar of the lunar cycle, and the harmonious solo of a sunbeam's heat. We appeared a little at odds over the definition of music, but eventually I came around. Serves me right for picking that fight with a bunch of deaf skin cells.

Since it isn't right to let my me's tastes win out over the preferred stimuli of my we, I sat down with them and discussed this dilemma. Sometimes I want a drumbeat. Sometimes I want a vocal solo. It's a dilemma they have faced as well...with their own constituents. Often they have desired a soothing water bath or a period of warmth only to be nagged by their atomic structures demanding more magnetic fields or less UV radiation.

So. This went deeper than I imagined.

I'm taking the necessary steps. I want everyone to be happy. I've developed a taste for natural VLF radio, and plan on touring the Kansas lightning fields with my electrons later in the year. And I have been listening to the ocean a lot. Yesterday I noticed my head bobbing all by itself...it must have been my we rocking out to that building 3.4' high tide and the heavy pull of the moon. And I'll tell you, diary, I know its only been a short while, but when I popped in the hot new Lil' John single I didn't hear a thing. Not a thing. But I think my we perked up a little at the magnetic pulses of my 24 inch subwoofer and the song of the summer breeze calling us out for a duet.

-G