I have discovered why I am so frequently in a mood vacillating between apathetic and lousy.
I'm dying.
Every moment I sit here, every time I move my finger to tap upon the grey keyboard, every time I look at the clock or inhale or think--I die a little more.
And that's the paradox: to live, one must die. Why is it so hard to believe? I think it's better than being immortal, watching days repeat themselves in monotonous fractals.
I'm still dying.
Out of Catch-22: "I'll live forever or die trying."
Whatever--that's close enough. Up yours.
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