Cooperation

I've grow weary of the endless translation of other peoples' rules. In a subconscious fit of childish refusal, my body defies cooperation in even the most innocent of  daily endeavors. From this is born acute panic attacks, and sheer terror at the mere mention of my name from a place of authority. It wasn't always like this; I vaguely recall (or more accurately, dwell on) a time when every nerve projected stability and potential. That window is closing. Having accepted this new state of normality, after an exhaustive battle of adolescent awkwardness, the least I can hope for is another involuntary transition into foreign homeostasis.

The idea of this subsequently compels me to start a new life in some sort of underwater pressurized submarine house, but I've always sort of felt like doing this anyway. Perhaps the next course of action should be to bury my lack of control in a smoking gun, or maybe a rusty razor blade, but this notion hardly interests me. I've never been one to entertain typical consequences. My escape fantasy replaces suicide with retreating into a reclusive Adirondack shack, but living off the grid will most likely just result in in a repeat Uni-bomber scandal.