Dissect and Sever

I could have seen Ms Chi today. She would have bought me food, and we would have laughed about something absolutely ridiculous because that is what friends do. I got a call about an hour ago, letting me know of whatever it is they were doing, but I can't bring myself to get out of the house. There are things I must do. I must save the term and stop being a child. I know for a fact that it'll be difficult for a person like me to straighten out.

Apathy is lethal. It is also contagious. It was when I got sick on my shoes that I knew I had to fix this. I've getting progressively unhealthier in the physical sense, but that is the least of the troubles. I'd also lost interest in my studies, thinking only of leaves and draughts and a different Arcadia - that in which Truth exists - reading different books, keeping Worlds at arms distance; for each man, woman and child is a World, but I won't speak of it right now.

But how could I do such a thing? I'm all words, little action. I'm too familiar with the bad old ways, which involve hazes and staying in bed for hours. The truth is, there is an answer: finding someone who is more or less an equal. It has been done - once, with Nancy, that sweet boy. I saw more than half of myself in him, and there was a part of both I did not like: that excess of woe, that Edgar Poe fixation on the dark, negative pulses. So I severed what I had left of sadness, and I haven't had it since. Sadness is an inferior emotion, and we would all be better without it. I am personally glad to be rid of it.

There is another feeling I must do away with: that of being purple and gold, of knowing oneself better than all the rest. Perhaps 'knowing' is not the correct word, but the point stands: one truly believes himself superior, and the notion is inevitably made Fact by Conscience itself. So I've found a second Mirror: smug, skeptical, insufferably knowledgeable, not unlike myself, which I will be using but not pursuing. This Attic face (and what a sweet-looking face!) will be but a tool for my own self-improvement. I will watch, not touch, speak without influence and inevitably dissect.

Dissect and sever the concept of superiority. I propose this for myself, and though this Apollo may remain abrasive, furtively violent in his elitism, I have decided to be rid of this. It is not the time for lovers, nor for attempts at loving. This has cost me many a mistress or friend, which is unforgivable. Though I do find him attractive, both in the aesthetic sense and on the fact that he reminds of myself, I do not want him. He takes pride in the parts I will be amputating.