ouch, seeing that thing in me like that would cause my own consciousness to become less so, or more so, or something so. I can't think about how it's all machinery, a mass of pumpy engine and levers and pulleys and the places where everything comes together. It's all so soft and squishy, driving cars at too-fast-mph on freeways amidst thousands of others, all too tight and too tired and too close and if just one of us lets go for a minute all that hard stuff could make sauce of all the soft stuff. I just want to be one solid hunk with nothing in the middle, a cross-section of me looking plain and unremarkable, not some weird tubes and sticks and gummy stuff.

Perhaps all of your own heart's skipped beats are being stored up, put in a bank, so that you'll get to have a savings to draw from while the rest of us have used all of ours up as they came to us.