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“I’ve never seen anyone so excited about new tires before.” Mom remarked as I raced to tie my bootstrings.
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Note: Last week’s posts were pretty damn depressing. But, I feel ready to talk about the other side of the coin (assuming I have time).
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Nauseous, weak-in-the-knees, and deprived of sleep, I clambered into my Xterra with a soda in-hand, and shakily shoved the keys into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared to life, and I immediately rolled down the windows and turned the AC up full-blast, hoping I’d get cold enough for my body to ignore the anxiety and instead focus on avoiding hypothermia.
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When it comes to my own death, I have no fear. I’m unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you view it) very familiar with death. I have experienced what it’s like to die. I have had more than my fair share of near-death experiences. I am okay with my own death, whether it means I have a soul that will continue to live on long after my body dies, or death is just eternal, dreamless sleep.
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I’m just about halfway done with this semester, and I’m really starting to get run-down. For the longest time, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was wrong. What was making me so tired every day? Why was I having to rely on increasing amounts of caffeine every day? Why didn’t home feel like the refuge it once was? Why did I only recover once I was fully alone, hiking in the foothills where my only company was the wildlife (and the occasional ranger that never failed to sneak up on me and scare the shit out of me)?
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