hooks and basters march around in a horrifying fashion. the experiences of each day have become disturbed by the surgery of unseeable hands. i just feel so tired. we are marching in the snow and i've lost my shoes. I am vicious towards myself, hoping that that will make everything move along faster but the only result I see is a kind of pain that dances between numbness and the sort of peircing pain that you could only think must be the bounty of severe damage.
everthing and everyone else has always been kept at a sturdy distance. I can see now why I had always felt monstrous. It is against nature to be as i have been. It places me in opposition to everyone; to live in a private world means that there is territorial conflict. But as I have seen this and gritted my teeth against it, it feels like all that my efforts have amounted to are my own broken teeth ripping at my guts and a vulnerable backbone. I know it's all worth it in a way that i don't yet fully grasp but i can't help resenting my loss of power.
