“Nothing is more distressing than a thought that escapes itself, than ideas that fly off, that disappear hardly formed, already eroded by forgetfulness or precipitated into others that we no longer master.”

Had I wanted so desperately to be special, to have a purpose, to recover from the shame of not being able to keep pace with the corporate world that I had somehow fabricated the entire thing? And how would I ever be able to tell for sure? If we are all just hallucinating this reality around us, how could we ever really know what is true and real

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