My dogged obsessiveness leads me to ignore all manner of threats, and the risk to the fortune Daisy and I have stumbled into.
I focus only on the mystery, and embrace the belief that solving it is the ultimate Good,
that declarative sentences are inherently better than interrogative ones,
and in finding the answer despite my madness, I simultaneously find a way to live with the madness.
I become a great detective, not in spite of my brain circuitry, but because of it.
I’m not sure who I walk into the sunset with in the proper story, Davis or Daisy, but I walk into it.
You see me backlit, an eclipse silhouetted by the eight-minute-old light of our home star, holding hands with somebody.
And along the way, I realize that I have agency over myself, that my thoughts are—as Dr. Singh liked to say—only thoughts.
I realize that my life is a story that I’m telling, and I’m free and empowered and the captain of my consciousness and yeah, no.
That’s not how it went down.
I did not become dogged or declarative, nor did I walk off into the sunset—
in fact, for a while there, I saw hardly any natural light at all.
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