One Conversation about Three Things

(Written on some note paper at work)
About two years ago I wrote a short story that was essentially a conversation between my heart, my mind and my body. It was rather disjointed and not particularly good, but it did address my relationship with the trinity of tenants that make me. Body was an idiot, saying basic body things in capital letters and exclamation points, like "ummm...FRIED CHICKEN! SLEEP TIME! PEE! BACK HURT GIMME DRUGS! OOOOH...BOY." As that is all my body really does. Body will say, "LEGS COLD!" and Head will say, "Wear pants."
The character of Head was surprisingly harsh. Head sighed and rolled her eyes at the constant mumbling of Body and the ceaseless emotion of Heart--Head was clearly boss, with Heart serving a severe subordinate space and Body not listening at all. Head told Heart to shut up a lot; the irony is Heart never had the heart to argue.
Heart was extremely meek, scared to even speak to Head for fear of the inevitable reproach. She was weak, capable of being talked out of feeling anything. It is like Head said, "Heart, you are nothing more than a sense, like taste or touch. The hand does not know what it touches, only how it feels to touch it. You have no place to try to define or describe what it is you feel, only to tell me you felt it."
I don't necessarily believe that to be true, but I think at the time I did. I don't know if I beleive that anymore. I think I don't. Funny how views change.
Sorry if this is disjointed--written on paper scraps and between the tiniest scraps of conversations.