My eyes just refuse to cooperate. Their latest complaint is that the pages in this one particular book are too white. I've said that about bars, radio stations, crowded movie theaters, city buses, actors, sliced bread, rental cars, and countries, but never about the pages of a book. The letters tend to hover above the page and do a little jittery dance.

My nose refuses to cooperate, presumably in solidarity with my eyes, like a sympathy strike. I took a walk in the snow today and suffered an allergy attack while loitering next to an enormous snowball. Pray tell, what misbegotten pollen spores could possibly have been hovering in the air at that particular time? Do they not see this wintry deadness, this seasonal dormancy of all reasonable flora? Maybe it was mold, except I'm not allergic to mold. What is mold? And anyway why would a comically oversized snowball, the very essence of whimsy, be infested with mold?

A couple of hours ago I suffered a sharp pain in my gut, a little off to the right, low but not too low, but not exactly mid-gut either, certainly not high or upper. I have only a glancing familiarity with the arrangement of my precious internal organs and plucky glands and I don't know which ones serve what purpose, if any. I assume we're talking mostly about vital secretions and crucial filtering, but who knows. Therefore it shames me to say that when I have a weird flash of pain from somewhere below my shoulders but above my waist, that's really about all I can say about it.