I woke up this morning from a dream in which my grandmother had been murdered. Everyone else thought she had died in her sleep, but I was suspicious, because who goes to sleep in a giant, person-sized dresser drawer? And the drawer was closed, how could she have done that?

So I launched my own amateur investigation, and by the time I woke up, I had just about discovered that Wyclef Jean did it. He had the means and opportunity, but I hadn’t yet worked out motive.

Speaking of sleep, I decided recently that mine is like a train. I fall asleep fairly easily on my first try, but if my sleep is interrupted, it takes a long time for me to fall asleep again.

I think what happens is the sleep train is coming along, and I jump on. But then if I miss that train, I can’t just fall asleep on my own. I have to wait for the next sleep train to come by. Sometimes, they are hours apart. And no sleep trains seem to run between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m.

Last Saturday night, Chris and I were having dinner at a friend’s house, and my phone rang. It said it was my mom, but I let it go to voicemail because it’s rude to answer the phone during dinner. A while later, I checked the message, and she sounded scared or something, “Amy, call me back as soon as you can.”

So of course I did. And here is what she said:

“Your dad needs to know the password for the Facebook.”

Conversation that just took place on my body:

Soul: God, I can’t wait for the run today. I always feel so good after.

Left Ankle: Er, have you noticed that I’ve been hurting?

Soul: It’s just a twinge.

Left Ankle: It was just a twinge. A month ago. Now it’s a tiny stab every time we take a step. Ow. Ow. Ow. See?

Left Middle Toe: And what about me? I’ve been hurting for three months. Remember that time I shot pain all the way through the foot and up the leg? I can do that again if you don’t stop with all the damn running.

Left Ankle: You should be the little toe, with all the wah, wah, wahing you do. You were there when I got hurt. Do you not remember the twisting? And how I soldiered on and carried us all another two miles after that?

Right Ankle: Oh, you carried us home, did you? I seem to remember doing at least half the work. And managing not to twist in the first place, loser.

Hamstring tendon: Quit your petty bitching down there. I’m bigger than all of you, and if I don’t get some rest, there will be blood.

Lungs: Oh, there will not be blood, you hypochondriac. We are running today. I like the running. I am strong!

Brain: Yeah, we are strong! And we are losing weight! And we are looking good! And we are setting new personal records practically every time we go out now! It’s amazing!

Biceps: And if you keep losing the weight, we shall be allowed to shine out from the arm. We are in here, but no one can see us yet. Let us out!

Triceps: Verily.

Abs: Amen!

Soul: Guys, guys, guys. It’s not about the ego. Weight loss, pride in our power–these are ephemeral things. The running is making us mentally strong. It’s giving us discipline.

Brain: Oh, shut up. It’s giving you endorphins. Junkie.

Soul: I . . . endorphins are reward for our discipline.

Left Ankle: [poke]

Left Middle Toe: [throb]

Soul: Why’d you do that?

Left Ankle: A little taste of what’s to come. Vote for a rest today or we’re kicking you out.

Soul: You can’t kick me out, I’m the soul.

Left Middle Toe: If we stop working, you stop getting endorphins altogether. And then you die. Slowly. Over decades. Don’t tempt us.

Hamstring Tendon: Union, yes!

Quads: Shut up, Ham-Ass. You are always such a whiner, and you’ve always tried to hold me back. We want to GO! We are machines! We want hills!

Hamstring Tendon: It’s my job to hold you back, dude. And hills are going to break me if I don’t get to take a nap for a week or so.

Soul: A week! A week? I can’t . . . not a week. Surely we can just . . . eat some yogurt or something. Isn’t yogurt good for us? It’s full of protein and magic. Won’t it heal you guys? Guys?

Brain: Hmmm. By my calculations, if I hurt myself pretty badly, it may be weeks until I can run again. But if I rest a little, maybe this will all heal a bit. On the other hand, I have tried rest before, and it never seems to work. Maybe . . .

Liver: And if you don’t heal up and stop taking so much ibuprofen, I’m going to skip town.

Lungs: We call a vote. Everybody for a 10K today, say “ay.”

Lungs, Quads, Biceps, Triceps, Abs, Glutes, Soul: AY!

Lungs: Against?

Left Middle Toe, Left Ankle, Hamstring Tendon, Liver: NAY!

Soul: The AYs have it! We run!

Brain: Veto.

Soul: But . . .

Brain: I don’t like it any more than you do, but I gotta do my job, here. How about a bike ride?

Abs: Can we do some crunches after?

Quads, Lungs, Soul: Better than nothing, I guess.

Taint: Damn.