self destruction really is such a fascinating human response to various factors both external and internal. what if sisyphus could leave at any time but kept rolling the boulder up the hill just to watch it roll back down anyway. what if he kept pushing it even as the rock cut into his palms and his legs began to ache with the desire to rest for even a moment and his body became a canvas of bruises and cuts that never have time to heal. what if he did it because it's the only thing he knows how to do. the only thing that gives him a sense of certainty and control in a world that takes both and offers neither.

& needless to say this trait is a lot more fun to observe in fiction than it is in you. or your mother.

hey (with the intention of hurrying home to you, putting on a slow dumb show for you, and cracking you up)