1. There is a worm in my kale. 1.1. It is reasonably big, predominantly white – curled, as though writhing in pain.
1.1.1. Do worms even feel pain?
1.1.2. I mean: do they really?
1.2. This kale is cooked but it houses a still-living worm.
1.2.1. Either the kale has not been properly cooked – hence the worm’s survival – and I should feel ripped off.
1.2.2. Or: this kale has indeed been properly cooked and this worm has survived immolation.
184.108.40.206. In which case: this worm is made of stronger stuff than I.
220.127.116.11. In which case: this worm suffered for objectively no reason.
18.104.22.168.1. In which case: this worm suffered for objectively no purpose, but survived, objectively giving it purpose.
1.2.3. Or maybe it just fell in after the cooking process.
22.214.171.124. This thought depresses me.
126.96.36.199. This thought depresses me because it follows a pattern in my life: I spend a lot of time pondering elaborate scenarios that are derailed by the logic of mundanity.
188.8.131.52.1. I will always be this kind of person, following this same pattern.
184.108.40.206.2. I should kill myself.
220.127.116.11.2.1. Killing myself is exactly the kind of thing someone like me would do.
1.3. I am the kind of person who will pick a worm out of his kale without a fuss.
1.3.1. This is because I imagine myself being described as a humble, quiet person at my funeral.
18.104.22.168. My funeral will be sparsely attended but the speeches will be epic in their passion and intensity.
1.3.2. I am the kind of person who likes to be thought of as the kind of person who would pick a worm out of his kale without fuss.
22.214.171.124. As in: even if somebody did not necessarily know that I had indeed once picked a worm out of a plate of kale without fuss, they could imagine me doing that.
2. I remove the worm from the kale and put it on the table.
2.1. I worry this is rude.
2.1.1. Fuck it. It’s their worm anyway.
2.1.2. That’s selfish. It’s not their worm.
2.1.3. The worm is its own worm.
126.96.36.199. The worm is not its own worm; it is a being connected to us all.
188.8.131.52. The worm is everybody’s worm.
184.108.40.206.1. Therefore, the worm is nobody’s worm.
220.127.116.11.1.1. Any positive absolute is ultimately indistinguishable from a negative absolute.
3. I crush the worm with the heel of my hand.
4. I cannot fucking go on like this any longer.
4.1. I will.