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Meet Bunny No. 2.

Imagine two scientists holding newly acquired lab animals. Rabbits, let us say. One holds his bunny with both his hands quite tightly, so tightly that it cannot gain any wiggle room at all in all of its struggling, and so in a very short time it decides to conserve it’s energy. It throws in the fucking towel, hangs up its little bunny hat. It gives up.

The other scientist holds his rabbit in a secure fashion with both of his hands — but he gives it some set wiggle room. The bunny is by no means free, nor is there much hope for him acquiring it, but he has been given some space, some room to squirm, struggle, wiggle, fight, resist. It battles its constraints until exhaustion. When it gains back its energy, its right back at it again.

What does the second bunny really have that is not afforded to the first? Pipe dreams. False hopes. The tease of a sweet liberty that it could never penetrate no matter how much it struggled.

Often I get the sinking feeling that for my whole life I have been the second bunny.

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