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I will always think it’s a bird. It will always be a paper bag.

July 30, 2010

I’m learning how to get by without a lot of things I always thought I’d need. This means curtailing the desire I have to crawl into bed beside you and your dog. This means letting myself revert back into someone who keeps a distance. I spent a good fifteen minutes crying about how everyone and everything will die one day. The ice caps will melt, the cities will flood, and all the polar bears will drown. You’d think this realization would satisfy the part of me that believes in destruction. It doesn’t.

There’s no point in salt-the-earth type destruction. The only reason to destroy something is to create something even better in its place.

I am fighting my baser nature in the pursuit of something more transcendent.

Days like this leave me reeling. I stay in and limit my contact with the outside world, decide it’s not worth the trouble to interact. It’s self-delusion at its worst (best?).

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