When you get anxious, narrow your life down. Narrow it down to yourself, and even further. Reduce the material in your hands to just today. Stay warm. Sweat the fever out. Build up the fire with quick wood that crackles, and listen to how the wood snaps without being ordered to. You are not wood--instead you melt like wax, puddling and staining the surface you collapse onto. It's okay. Reach into the raw grain of the table underneath you and dig your oily fingers in; soak your presence into eternity. Be patient as you spread, and as you solidify. Cool wax will be pried up from where it slept, but the mark of your grip cannot be rubbed away.
(I know this doesn't make complete sense but an attempt to excise something doesn't have to.)
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