The Pork Shoulder Experiment

Currently Listening To :: Greatest Mistake :: Handsome Boy Modelling School feat. John Oates & Jamie Cullum

I woke up this morning in a bed that wasn't my own, but a bed that wasn't unfamiliar. But before you ask, yes, I was alone. And yes, I was fully clothed. But far from a sad ending (or beginning to this entry), the sun was shining, and as I wiped the sleep from my eyes, my mind thought about the few nights just passed.

I began to wonder what it would be like to have a dampened sense of physical feedback. They say that when you lose one of your five senses, the remaining four become even more acute in order to compensate. Stevie Wonder. Beethoven. Waste management specialists the world over.

So what would happen if everything I touched was only a quarter as sensitive to my body as it normally was? How about half as sensitive? Three-quarters? If I could no longer feel the glow of a hot shower, the coarseness of beach sand on the soles of my feet, the smooth skin of my lovers lower back, would I be better off dead?

If I couldn't feel anything in a physical sense like I used to, does that mean my emotions would be heightened? Would these overpowering emotions destroy me before I could find a way to control them? When I drink the alcohol that dulls my senses, that makes me impervious to the cold, do I feel any less on the inside?

I thought about that on Friday night as I casted a glance across the room at Privilege and sunk back yet another rum and coke, my body screaming for sustenance as I waited for my mind to open up and absorb my newly heightened emotions like a sponge.

Not this time. Maybe another night, but not tonight.

I'm typing this as I wait another 5 hours for my pork shoulder to slow-cook. With any luck, midnight should bring me a heady mix of pork roasted in brown sugar, paprika, coriander, onion powder, salt and pepper.

If that doesn't open my senses, well, I might as WELL be dead.