I have been lately particularly fascinated by -- and disgusted by -- the body. Certainly, in many ways, aware of it as I've never been before. And while I feel half of what I mean to say will seem radical, neurotic or self-contradictory, please regard this only as I hope you would anything else I ever write: as my personal thoughts, which represent only at most several days' reflection, and are bound to become something entirely else in another several days' time.

Old men's bodies -- wrinkled skin -- the perpetually growing malformed ear -- baldness -- liver spots... visually disturbing and disgusting.

And then, if you only want to be pragmatic, you've got stooped shoulders -- loss of hearing -- bad teeth, if teeth at all -- canes; wheelchairs; my god, an existence in bed..

Yes, there are cute old people and there are spry old people, but lately I find myself recoiling in horror from half the senior crowd: how our bodies fail us, thwart us, deny us, long before we can think of transcending them first.

And so I have been forcing myself to sit up straight; I had an irrational hypochondriacal moment of fearing B12 deficiency disorder and accompanying permanent brain damage so I'm taking a supplement again; I will exercise, I will drink more water, I will give up Kinder Bueno, I'll floss; anything to keep my body on my side.

I want to be healthy and strong as long as I'm alive; when I am no longer, I will not wish to be alive. Yes, perhaps my fear of the body will eclipse my long-immobilizing fear of death.

I have lately also seen the advantage of a chosen death; I've long believed I would never commit suicide because nothing in life scares me as much as death, but as I become more comfortable in myself and with what I believe my feelings toward death are less and less fearful; it is that now I have so much potential in living, but I can imagine a day I will no longer think so, and so, I think it would be much better if I could choose death -- a final, resolute choice to end a life lived purposefully -- before death arbitrarily claims me. That doesn't even read as morbid to me; my, I've come a long way.

But my body is for now my means of navigating the world, collecting and synthesizing information about the world; my existence is somewhat limited by this condition/this tool, but "transcendence" is also possible.

Yes, I do feel that I -- that which I refer to when I speak of "I" -- am something external from or at least other than my body, though I do not believe in souls or spirits as such; it is that "I" manipulates my body, I know better than it, but I am limited by it; still I expect "I" will die along with my body.

And so I want to keep this body strong and healthy as long as possible: I can't do this without it; I've got to take better care of it. I know I will not be able to (that is want to) continue my work if I am blind or crippled. I have to take better care: it is my most valuable possession.

As I dissociate myself from my body, so I dissociate myself from everything biologically female about it. Just as I don't really define myself as an American, a Democrat, a heterosexual or any other label that might appear natural and applicable, I do not really see myself as inherently female. I am technically, incidentally female, I suppose, as far as that takes me; but I persist in thinking of myself only as the sum total of that which is Lauren, though I realize there are hundreds of thousands of those. I am me, regardless of my useless sex characteristics and arbitrary chemical make-up.

And apart from that one time I tried to think of myself as normal, I have always thought of my reproductive organs as useless. It might not be fair to ascribe this newly conceived fear of body to a childish aversion to motherhood, but nevertheless I never really wanted my womb; I was very upset when my breasts outgrew a B-cup; and my periods have never really inconvenienced me -- my pains are slight and I don't mind the blood -- but for the fact that they have always seemed, again, a useless and, moreover, uncontrollable fact of a bodily condition I've never wanted any part in.

True, I simply do not want children; the instinct to motherhood, if such a thing truly exists, is completely dead in me. But more than that: pregnancy seems to me a violent violation of the body. It seems monstrous, this parasitic creation, feeding off your body, turning your body against you. If most women truly do find this process beautiful I am amazed -- from here it looks brutal. Is the most beautiful thing that there is another life inside you? Is that not actually terrifying? It seems to me you lose something of your self to this new individual; and there is then a very real attachment to this life that was you but now is not; I also fear mothers becoming as dependent on child as vice versa, and love should never be based on dependence in either direction.

Were I to become pregnant (parthenogenesis?) right now and for the forseeable future, I do not hesitate to assert: I would have an abortion. My self first. Unconditional commitment to self. I truly feel that until that life can breathe and feed of it's own accord it is essentially a parasite; which is to say it is also at my mercy and that is unfortunate, but: I value what is and the potential of the living, not the potential of the potentially living. I will not subject this body and myself to the mostly destructive forces of pregnancy.

That said, I respect myself and this body far too much to ever really put us? in the position of becoming pregnant so in a practical sense my feelings about abortion mean little, except insofar as I truly mean them.

And as I progressively dissociate myself from the body (a course I've followed for at least two years), everything about the body becomes either indifferent or actually repulsive. I go back and forth on this issue far too often to be taken seriously I know, but the truth is even at my most sexual I am a fairly asexual person. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I am occasionally sexual in a solitary sense, and I am very comfortable with that manifestation (after all, it is chosen, self-directed, therefore controllable and non-threatening) but when it comes to real sexual activity the most positive feeling I ever have is curiosity, and when I think about it, I really only adapt thoughts about sex in general to my already comfortable sphere of introspective mental consideration. Which is to say, any thought of real sexual interation seems to me both impossible and repulsive. Yes: the male body disgusts me. Yes: I equate penetration with violation if on any but my own terms. I don't think it is adequate to attribute these feelings to infantilism anymore: it may be partly that but more that any inherently and exclusively physical, bodily act feels opposed to my very nature.

I do feel the need to make clear I am not a prude -- I am very comfortable with sexuality in most forms in a generalized, removed way. Also I do not Stoically reject pleasure; it is, in fact, that I derive little pleasure from physical contact -- I have never been much of a hugger; I am not a very touchy person except, sometimes, with Josh (and nearly everyone whilst intoxicated); and touch is rarely a comfort to me (if I appreciate the spirit in which it is offered I still do not feel much in response to it itself).

"All I need now is intellectual intercourse." I'm not sure if there are others like me whom I could satisfy, but in moments of honesty I do know what satisfies me, and I only think I'm dissatisfied when I compare myself with others and judge myself "abnormal" -- that's silly.

And as I obviously reject out of hand the Freudian notion that all is sex, I might as well stop using silly words like "repression": my past is what it is, undoubtedly it has created me, but I am fine now.

But for all this dissociation of self and body, I still admit to caring about the presentation of my body as if it were a direct reflection of self. Well, it is the closest thing to myself I can show most people, so why shouldn't it display something of my values and tastes; yet what have big fuzzy sweaters to do with me? Yes, like almost all people, I carefully package myself; I find myself wanting more rather than less to define a holistic image that represents who I am. Right now I want new glasses, new shoes, a wardrobe that seems a more logical whole, and a haircut as if, together, they could project me into the world, if I could orchestrate it all perfectly. I am very conscious of everything my body does, what it looks like, how it is perceived by other people: because there is the danger it will be confused for me, I want to at least present it on my terms. Well, what started out almost insidious now seems perfectly logical to me: presentation can be another act of choice, nearly a physical manifestation of self, if it is done for the right reasons.

I just want my body to do what I tell it to, to facilitate everything I want to do, for as long as possible.

I am entirely self-contained and hell-bent on transcendence.

Now I don't want anyone to try to tell me aging, pregnancy and sex can be beautiful: I know they can for some people; I'm not saying anyone else is wrong. Please understand that by trying to change my mind on any of these subjects you essentially write me off as abnormal; you can think me abnormal, certainly, just understand that implication. Understand also, as it has taken me so long to, that there are infinite valid ways to perceive and deal with any of these topics, and if society encourages us to age gracefully, marry, have children and love it, have sex and love it, and even if it is right for the majority of people, it is still not the only way, or the healthiest way, or the most "normal" way. You, like most people, may truly love sex; I may one day, too. But there is nothing inherently wrong, or repressive, about asexuality; believe me, I don't think I'm missing anything now and I can easily envision dying virginal and still feeling like I've led a full, meaningful life. Which is to say the only point in this entry I feel is up for debate at all is my position on abortion, and as we all know how fruitless debating that issue always is, I hope any potential comments will be restricted more to the approach than the conclusion, and perhaps to the more general "I love you; you rock" variety.

All perspectives being more or less equally valid, I likewise love and think you rock, too.