I walked down to the bathhouse and showered with an interesting looking beetle. The camp showers are built with cedar, the smell reminds me of my aunts house in VT.

His back was shiny, like oil running underneath your car in the driveway. He moved around a bit here and there but I never disturbed him.

I checked to make sure the water didn’t run him down the drain and when I was done I nodded at him.

Who the hell nods at a beetle they’ve just shared a shower with?

Now I’m brewing coffee in a single pot I had to use bottled water for, tastes just as good.

The more I understand myself the more all of this makes sense. A girl at work tells me from time to time that although I am good at my job it seems as if I do not belong around people, she means normal people.

I don’t take offense to her statements, I believe her to be right. The more I begin to understand myself the more I’ve come to realize that I am not suppose to “belong”. That’s boring.

The reasons have been building but the truth has always been there, I’m only now finally ready to acknowledge it. What the hell am I doing here?

If I never saw the bright lights of a hospital, especially as a patient. If I never had to hold a conversation about the state of my lawn, whenever I get one again. If society as we know it collapsed around me, maybe more people would see the world as I do.

The steam came off the cedar shower and all I could think of was how that little beetle was just there, existing. He didn’t have to answer an email, go to work Monday, pay taxes, or keep a calendar. On the other hand I could have ended his life right there, but that’s part of existing.