I always thought of myself as a somewhat complicated person. Not mysterious, just someone that has a helluva back story, and been around enough years to have accrued quite a few, complications.

     Here is the news of the night. We, I mean every single one of us, are more complicated than I ever imagined.

    Our bodies are covered with about five layers of skin. All different kinds of skin, with different names, functions, lifespans. We have bones, so many bones, all different shaped bones, and then there are the tendons, ligaments, and the great glorious cord that slides up our spine that, hopefully, delivers intelligence (in the spy sense of the word, data, information, not actual thought out positions on the Middle East) to our brain.

     I just spent two hours on the cranium, lots of bones involved in brain security, and I need to know the names of all of those bones. And the names of the places where they meet, the rivers that divide one chunk of brain bone from another are called sutures. One of them is called a lamboidal suture and I can’t figure out how I can tie a picture of a baby sheep in with a grey mark on a skull, but I ‘m working on it. There are cavities and cardiums, viscera, planes and positions, organelles, and a complex run by a fellow that goes by one name, Golgi. Not sure how to pronounce that.

     We are all very, very complicated people. My mind boggles at the thought, and the only reason it can boggle safely is because it is protected by all those bones of different shapes bordered by all those sutures, with impossible to remember names.

     Knowing that doesn’t make me feel any safer or closer to passing the test.
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