I feel like an automaton. I am all repetition, programming.
I feel like I exist in a collapsing box where the sides close in a few inches at a time. Eventually, the box will snap shut and I will be trapped, compressed into a dense pinpoint of matter, a singularity.
Yesterday I saw twin babies with mohawk haircuts and I couldn't decide if this was kind of cool or totally weird. M votes for "cool" but I'm still on the proverbial fence.
I have made far too many people angry in the last week but (as always) this is unintentional.
I work hard to avoid human pettiness, but this keeps me on the outside of things, always. I exist only on the periphery.
I cannot remember the last time I made a loaf of bread.
Reading : How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents
Watching: I Sell The Dead
Me, mid-July 2018
2 days ago