Dear Wigleaf,

Some days, I'd like to hold my liver in my palm. Give the little guy a break, then neatly fold him back into my mysterious insides. Mysterious not because any internet search couldn't tell me my essential geography, but because I will never Mrs. Frizzle myself and why should I want to? I'm made of all these parts, see, and I ought to love them sight unseen. Am I not my spleen? Is my spleen separate enough from the rest of me that I might handle it like a tamed squirrel? Or is it like when you hug yourself to pretend you're not alone, though this proves the point you are.

Sometimes we all need a little break.

Love,
Rebecca