We choose to be angry and ashamed, or self-righteous and vain. We select those things for our lives like clothes off a rack, and implicate ourselves in our own undoing by inviting the scrutiny of other people. I’d rather wear a hairshirt. Which is to say I’m not unfeeling. No insecurity, no disappointment, no performance, I just want to be hit, ripped up, and stretched out. That was easy enough to accommodate, at least when I was living in Los Angeles and finishing my degree. Thursday afternoons I’d post the ad online and only have to wait, on all fours, behind my unlocked door. Those nights my head would whiteout like a tundra. Sensation only, again and again.