After-festivities

[the_ironbuddha]

I ran over an opossum today. At least, I think it was an opossum. It was whitish. I tried to avoid it, but the road was only one lane each way, and the road was slick. I hit it. The underside of my car jolted a loud crack through my spine, causing me to curse and then go limp. I didn't get out of the car. I only slowed nearly to a stop, looked in my rear-view mirror, and saw that it was lying on its side, certainly dead. Why today, I asked? Then again, perhaps I should be more existential about all this. But neither is really the point. This is just a confessional. I'm very tired right now, so this hasn't sunk in. I know it's there, but I'm just a bit removed.

I think I now know what it's like to be removed from the world, not out of sleep deprevation, but in a Mersault, death-row prisoner sort of way. I feel like a murderer and terrible. I feel guilty, but accepting my guilt, I'm indifferent in some sense.

Why? I feel a strong attachment to it, even though I had no connection with it. I'm sorry.

-Chris