An Open Letter to Mea Corpus

Dear Ol' Bones and Flesh of Mine,

I really don't speak Latin, but sometimes I pretend to.  So indulge me for a minute.  I just want to let you know that while over the past twenty-something years I haven't always wished you were mine, I'm glad you are.  You function.  And you take a pretty good beating.  I really love the fact that so far, you've held up exceptionally well.  You've made it through High School, College, 23 foreign countries, a ruptured appendix, two Christmases of fried carp and its caviar, and a sleep deficit that rivals the one of the nation to which I pledge my allegiance.  That's impressive.  And while I haven't been exceptionally kind to you as of late, you still let me enjoy life in full-force--not ever really trying to hold me back, or stop me from seeing, hearing, tasting, touching and smelling whatever I want, whenever I want.  You mobilize my crazy impulses, and work overtime to help me achieve my dreams.  You are truly one of the greatest gifts of my existence.  Veni vidi vici!

And for that, I thank you.

Gratias tibi ago,

A.