My Stomach - My Friend
 

Part of me is discussing the basics of aromatherapy while the other two-thirds are pondering what leftovers might be lurking in the refrigerator.

A distraction of thought often eases the determination of focus.

One must deter tension through olfactory massages but do not forget the gastro-intestinal urgings of your inner life force.

Aroma candles have therapeutic value, but how much more so is a quart of vanilla frozen yogurt?

Fill my nostrils with pine forests but do not neglect my stomach.

For the stomach, or stomata, is an entity unto itself.

Its monarchy of control dictates my every move.

I must get up, throw breakfast down the pie hole and go to work to buy more pie. 

If I refuse to feed it, I will most certainly die.

I am truly a slave of my own appetite.

My tummy, or “gut”, envelops my stomach in a co-dependant embrace and proudly displays the years of gluttony and personal defilement I have gladly yet sadly indulged in.