The itch has given way to a pervading numbness. The simplest tasks seem fraught with a level of complication I cannot bear to confront. But lying in bed is no longer an option. I need to rise, move, breathe the late summer air. So I get out of bed and shower, resentfully, hating the world and everything in it. I dress and walk out, heading nowhere in particular but suspecting that I'll end up with a cup of coffee and a desire to return home quickly.
I can barely stand my own existence at this moment.
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