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Being flattened by the angel

The opposite of romance is avarice. The opposite of big is proud. The opposite of bread and butter is a fejoa. The opposite of now is never. The opposite of domesticity is a ciggarette in a saucer of rain water.

The opposite of me is me. I am who I never was and I was happy as I was.

Since I stopped work due to the general fetus-having nature of my life, and the baby-having nature of my life to come, I have struggled with my selfhood. Mainly because I have had to stop and think.

If you can't wear any of your shoes, are you still yourself?

Are you still yourself if you find that your previously placid temperament has changed to constant rage?

How does your self feel about being two people at once, except you don't know one of them at all? Do you pretend that you have some spiritual and intrinsic understanding of that stranger?

Does this all come down to realising that my selfhood was based on ephemeral things that didn't matter?

Or is the opposite of romance brain death, like I always thought it was?


Would hugs be a useful thing at the moment? If so, you has some!

One possibility is that The Rage is being fuelled by notpies themselves, since Babbys are bombs of Interesting Chemical Shifts.

I hope you feel better soon, and general Positive Mindbeams.
*hugs* I'm pretty sure that selfhood *not* being challenged by pregnancy would make less sense to me than selfhood that is challenged, but it doesn't make it any more pleasant to experience

(Ada and I had toasted bread, with butter, and feijoas for dinner tonight.)

April 2011

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