First is the end

It somehow seems appropriate that I am started a new blog as the summer wanes and dies outside my window.

There have been too many days spent hiding from myself, shrinking from scrutiny for fear of what I know to find. And even now it feels the same – how I resume my ‘real’ life (as a working professional) after five long months of willful self-destruction.

Strange, that. How I need the veneer of a white-collar job to maintain the patina of normalcy that would otherwise disintegrate because I… because I cannot persuade myself that I, too, am a human. A cloud of thoughts does not constitute a mind any more than a cluster of ravening thirsts and appetites do not compose a body. I’ve always had a notoriously poor instinct for self-preservation, always searching for an opportunity to take flight. In fact, I can’t honestly recall a day since I left childhood whereupon I have not fallen asleep discreetly wishing for a failure to awaken the following morning.

But this is untenable. I must accept that I’m here to stay, and somehow have to cobble together the semblance of a functional life while it lasts.

Today is Sunday and as such I should’ve gone to church. I didn’t. I’ll write more about that another time. First I have to tidy up my house and clean so that I can start afresh when I begin at my new workplace on Wednesday. How else ought a 23-year old woman get back on her feet if not scrub the hell out of her domicile? I can think of few better ways.

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