The Notorious State of Mind That Follows Reading Too Much Dostoyevsky

This morning I once again started looking to the both sides before crossing the street. I do not know where the fear of having an accident had gone, the enormous fear of getting crushed to a pulp by crazy taxi drivers, mighty but filthy buses, or deranged motorcyclists. I am not aware why it decided to come back either. Well, I guess everyone needs their time alone, right? I only require to know how I am supposed to manage my life if the all mighty fear decides to go away once more. For instance, I know that the urge to punch walls, to smash my bones, cools off if I run. I know that I can go on living without scratching my skin to the point of having dried blood under my fingernails if I simply paint. (I also have learned how to keep myself from hurting and tormenting others by staying alone.) What is needed now is for me to figure out this new leisure activity, then I can live safe and sound the rest of my pitiful life. Good news is, I understand their nature in general: they are little detours, tiny little adventures that my generous life has bestowed upon me the opportunity to take. Oh, how grateful I am to have them! My little secrets!

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