what follows are musings on mort*lity and ab*se. right now, feels like
the tone is going to be mostly philosophical, but there will prolly be
some details, or at least specific labels, and no splats.
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a number of folks have said that what happened several weeks ago was
life-threatening. c said 100 years ago we would have died. surgeon said
if they had waited several hours more, she would have had to take out
some intestines, rather than just free them. she said they were
starting to die.
we were talking about how it just doesn't compute. we can't see this as
having been life-threatening. t said that if the bowel obstruction
isn't corrected, then you become septic and that's how you die. that
would, btw, be an incredibly painful way to die. isn't what we would
choose. if we were going to choose to die (which, btw, right now, we're
not), then the method would be very quick and very lethal.
it doesn't compute. it doesn't get processed or felt.
and, somehow, in the session on friday, we moved from talking about the
surgery to talking about a rape. t couldn't tell at first.
you're lying there, and what's happening is so outrageous, so
unexpected, so completely out of your control that is just isn't real.
it can't be real. so you can't be there. so you're on the ceiling
watching something that isn't real. and so it doesn't compute. you
can't touch it.
touching it would make it real.
-- astri
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