Cat in a box.
Lu was fascinated by her own tiredness. She was trying to place it within the system of coordinates she uses to navigate toward an increase in deadness. For convenience, she used Cartesian coordinates, with "dead" and "alive" on the X-axis and "forgotten" and "self-aware" on the Y-axis. It didn't really fit anywhere, naturally sparking her curiosity.
But tiredness had something undefined and ambiguous, increasing Lu's attraction toward it. It was one of those days when Lu could explore tiredness experientially, not merely through a conceptual framework. Bob was performing all sorts of tricks, spinning around his head, and dressing up as a butterfly, hoping that Lu would pick him up and confuse him with one of her thoughts. He sneakily hoped to enter her mind and persuade her to provide more milk and cookies. However, nothing could make Lu move. Days of homelessness were taking a toll on her. The memory of her loss still lingered with bright colors, holding her hostage and creating doubts about whether forgetting was such a good strategy to commit her life after all.
"If forgetting comes with so much discomfort, why would I want to forget?"
Lu briefly caught that mental butterfly but quickly moved away from anticipated discomfort. To question her whole purpose in life would be too much at the moment. She managed to forget the doubt and immediately leaned into her tiredness.
"Bob, do you have those moments when you don't know whether you are dead or alive? Simultaneously being both or nothing at all?"
"Once I lived on a cat who sacrificed his privacy to serve answering this question. He suffered from all kinds of mental challenges, mostly rooted in a feeling of being unseen, unloved, and uncared for. He was born into a black box, and day after day, year after year, he was haunted by voices philosophizing about his state of being. It was driving him crazy and pushing him into all kinds of self-destructive behaviors. He could never really do anything because he had no clue even where to start hurting himself. To feel pain, he had to be alive, which wasn't certain. Time passed, voices continued, and luckily I died from boredom, lack of ambition, and hunger.
I personally think that the cat made himself too dependent on the voices outside the box. Seeking the answers about his state in their speculations. The voices were changing all the time, old voices were dying, and new ones coming in with new ideas, promising clarity. There was too much hope for my taste, unproductive and consuming the cat's agency. He outsourced too much responsibility on others to tell him what he is.
I don't know what happened with him after I died; I'd bet my cookies that he is still in the box somewhere. So listen, Lu, if you are planning to keep yourself busy with these questions, leave me behind; no cookies in the world would make up for it. I had my black box and talking voices who tell me what I am. I would like another future for myself where I am not preoccupied with definitions, wasting time I could have used for hunting pleasures manifesting as sweet and creamy delights.
I'm doing you a favor, Lu, and answering your curiosity: you are dead and alive simultaneously at every moment. That's the box you have, regardless of the voices or eyes looking at you. But that is too much to comprehend, so eventually, they will choose what you are to make things easier and move forward; otherwise, everyone is stuck in the box.
Just like the voices choose what you are for them, you do the same for yourself. So drop wrestling with the paradox and decide what you'll be now; forget the other state and remember it again when you want to change.
I feel tired now, and my head is spinning. Know, Lu that my generous sharing is driven by egocentric forces.
I love you, Lu, and want to have you for myself and interested in you being unstuck.
You are a good feeder. But I am inflexible with these kinds of things, so there is no other way for me to be with you.
Choose now."
Bob finished his story and fell asleep; even his body seemed to deflate after he stopped talking. Lu lost her speech and ability to move, being quite the opposite. For a brief moment, she felt like a turkey, with her chest inflating like a balloon.
Lu thought Bob's understanding of the world was unfolding on Cartesian "cookies" and "milk" on the X-axis and "sleep" and "move" on the other. Perhaps it wasn't that far from the truth, but it was difficult to believe, listening to his story.
Getting back to her senses, Lu felt guilty and self-uncooperative, equating tiredness with wasting time. She figured that it must mean that she is alive now; a dead Lu wouldn't be able to feel guilty. And if she is alive, she can get back on track seeking for death.
On a deep level, all of these movements didn't make sense for Lu, but they energized her, taking away the tiredness. She carefully picked up sleeping Bob, who was drooling sticky liquid over her black socks, and rolled him over her neck. It was getting cold, and it was time to hunt for milk and cookies. Lu wanted to impress Bob when he woke up, showing love and care, all while easing her sense of guilt.
"I am definitely alive," she thought, noticing a cold tear running on her cheek while contemplating this weird, slimy creature.
"Maybe I will stay like this for a bit, postponing my new dying for a few hours."
The last butterfly in her head made this beautiful move and spirited her away onto a new adventure.