It feels like that can be the worst of it. A busy weekend, three papers written, edited, submitted. Sitting at the computer all day for three days. Laying one's body atop the cold faux marble counter seems like a brilliant idea.
Not being spiritual, that is a trouble. If this body is what I am. What does that mean for me as a being? This pain is part of me, it is me. Is it the only truth and all else created to distract?
Occupying space. A home. Where is the home repair grant for me? Won't the government fund the fixing of my body? Change!
Yet, if this pain is what I am, what will I be if it ceases to exist? How will I be kept in the now? I am drawn to the present and cannot remember a past before this pain nor a future whence this pain has passed. There is no time but vertical nowness. In which the pain is. Thus it always is for always is now.
It is more me than my consciousness. The sweet voice in the back of my mind, coaxing. Kindness. This pain has empathy.
How can we have a loving relationship? Is this masochism? Am asexual for this is my partner.
Thoughts of a weakened mind.
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