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less

If someone asks me what I want I always say ‘less’ and I know it’s true, in the sense that I know it’s also true that there’s an Indian Ocean and the perimeter of a circle is 2pi x R or that without oxygen I’d die in three or four minutes.

It’s true that I want less, but I don’t really know what less means. But I do know that I can barely cope with the white-noise overload of what I currently have.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m socially autistic, or maybe just autistic, and my head is constantly crashing in on itself with the input from outside – some days I can’t face opening my emails, some weeks, some months even, because I can’t deal with the otherness of what’s awaiting me on the other side. I just want less of it so that I can deal with it properly, the little that remains.

I get migraines every day, the lights, the headaches, the mood swings, the muscle cramps. Or I take tablets and I’m comatose. Somatose, even. But I’m in a thicket of more, and the thicket is bristling with spikes and razor-edged thorns that conspire to foil my escape.

But I want less.

Less things, less people, less technology, less food, less money, less work… just less.

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