Sometimes I LOATHE having a body...
Body: Feed me. Not that. Or that. Or that. A very minimal and specific range of foods.
Body (at LITERALLY the last minute): You need to empty me. Don’t worry, it’ll only feel weird and smell bad.
Body: Wash me. It’s not like showers are a nightmare or anything.
Body: Clothe me. Not that. Or that. Or that. I will only tolerate a very specific range of clothes that mostly make you look terrible.
Body (with broken finger): Nah, you’re not in pain.
Body (with tiny splinter): Aaaaaargh, we are dying.
It is fucking endless. Endless disgusting, exhausting demands. Mixed messages. Lost messages. It’s so much effort. So tiring just existing sometimes.