I'm almost convinced that I'm never awake. I'm not sure if I'm not in fact dreaming when I live, and living when I dream, or if dreaming and living are for me intersected, intermingled things that together form my conscious self.
If I think, everything seems absurd to me; if I feel, everything seems strange and near; if I want, it's something in me that does the wanting. Whenever there's action in me, I'm sure I wasn't responsible for it.
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