Velociworld

SOMETHING TO SLEEP ON...

I was cleaved from my mama's womb at 8:13 of a Monday morning, right on schedule. Extracted like the pit of a plum. Being the 4th of 5, uncalled for and unplanned for and medically heinous, and being what would now be called waste in an incinerator, or an inconvenient blob, I find the fact I made it at all pretty miraculous. In today's environment I would have been hoovered. My mother was all about home economics, and cost-cutting.

I sometimes think about the fact I never traveled the canals of Venice, so to speak. Does that make me like a cloned beast? Is there some ennobling, ensouling part of the birth process that only ignites one's being at the moment of breaching?

Am I the soul cousin of Dolly the Sheep? It would certainly account for my longing for her poor departed being, and yet...

I spent years worrying about the fact I was raised on the formulaes instead of the breast, and the lack of ensoulment in that particular situation. But The Bride convinced me formulaes separate us from the beasts of the field, and I concurred. Easy, because now I have the whole cloning thing to exercise my mind.

I'll sleep well. Yet again.

PS: I think I like the all caps headers. But that could be the soulless zombie in me.