what ever it was that i did is the same thing that i always do that makes me feel like this like shit like i can't figure out the world or why i don't fit in it so well most times and why you can roll up your eyes and fall into private silences until i want to take a pen knife and dissect my own arm because i am only a bag of guts and there are bones in there and blood just like cows and maybe if you could see it all the pink and red fleshy works of sinews and dead-end maps capillaries and pulsation then maybe i would be more real like a phone bill or the fibonacci sequence and less like what ever it is that i am