a scribbled entry...

The thing about me is that I tend to self-destruct, self-heal, self-initiate, self-induce, self-everything.
The funny thing is that nothing ever really leaves the self.
I live and breathe in me.
It starts in the self and ends in it.
I guess one might think this to be a tragedy.
To live in one's self and live there forever.
Twenty-seven cat's and all.

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I'm about to read The Diving Bell and the Butterly, which is a memoir of a man who is 'imprisoned' in his own body. Ironic, right?
We'll see how reading such an apt-to-the-situation book will affect me.

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Oh, and by the way, yes, it is somewhat a tragedy.