Pain is good.
And I think that's what I need to shock me out of this ennui/rut/connundrum/mental Rubik's Cube/attack of the nerves that I'm facing.
So I need to figure out some forms of self-torture. Maybe when the flesh dies, the soul will come alive.
PS Reading One Hundred Years of Solitude is a form of torture I wouldn't recommend; reading that just made me want to kill myself more than jolting me awake.
1 comment:
I can't find that quotation anywhere - I was wondering who else could dislike it so much! But nobody does, do they? You wrote it, didn't you?
:P
Longer comment below!
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