and still.

I'm still digesting my own memoir. It's the horror of seeing myself reflected back by it so perfectly that I can hardly stand. Is this life? Is this my life? I recoil in perfect recognition. I cannot stand it.

Yet I'm in there and I can see so closely my actions and responses.

I'm no longer so close to it that I am still reacting in the way of "Blah! The suffocation of so much contingency." I now see the action and reaction -- that the reaction was mine alone (and not an aspect of contingent "fate".)  I've now, out of boredom, turned the lens to observe the opposite angle of double-sided reality.

And still...