Four Of A Hundred Days

I got cute with the title of this post. Obsession takes many forms. The "Out" is not over while I am in it. Anyways. I needed more freeform. A form of freeing. Although it's just holding me to account with my obsessions.

Still there is no sense. I have no sense. Nothing makes sense. If only nothing could.

But maybe that's the point. To be at nothing. To be within it. To know it as intimately as the soul that suffers with itself. The suffering that is myself.

And maybe the soul is the nothing.

It could be the nothing ventured. It could be the nothing that should be gained.

I pause.


End the pause.

I am positive that bread is not the staff of life. It plugs the gut, not to mention also the butt. I am full. But it's not a satiated full. It's the full of more than bad enough. The full of existing in the rut of a bad-for-you food cycle.

I also ate potato salad.

How sick.

I am not OCD. I do know what works for me. It's fats, and proteins, and vegetables.

There. I'll feel better in a couple of days.


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