Better.

I still have a basal level of fear, still cannot rationalize my thoughts, widdling them down to harmless rounded stumps. They are still sharp to a point that pierces my mind and scares me into doing what I otherwise might not, or preventing me from doing what I know I should.

The study of medicine as yeilded a new understanding of what is fragile. "Fragility, thy name in woman." the famous line in Hamlet reads. If Shakespeare were only able to know what I do: that fragility's name should be human.

Everyday in school I am confronted with new malaties and little reverence for the normal homeostasis of the human condition. The is so much wrong with our environment and some much to go wrong with our bodies. How can I be hopeful? Is this all we are? Sick or destinted to be sick. Souless and existing but to die? The natural world may be as simple as an answer could be, displaying a response in the commonality of every living thing: to reproduce. Though, for me this offers no sucker. This world seems to be dying, so my seed will not count. It is sad, but it seems to all be dying.

So what to do? I hear, in the same sour and defeated breath that utters death and hopelessness, whispers of life. What do you do with your time here, Matt? Lament your morality. Who told you that wrong tales about life. No cycles, no natural cycles in these storiesL: I was raised to see dying as unnatural. I was raised Christian. What haunting, yet enticing oft repeated line was "Thou shalt now parish, but have ever-lasting life."