![]() We fall under the fallacy of control when we refuse to be carried along by a certain momentum. Why not adopt the perspective of a bodysurfer? he suggested. She thought it was a fair question, though a friend once chastised her for expressing it. Upon waking, she would stare at the mute, beige ceiling of her adobe casita until the first words occurred to her, usually something like, How did I end up here? It was like a bird plucked her from the shore, dashed her upon some rocks, then forgot to eat her. Now the clam lived in New Mexico, a landlocked state far from the sea. Both species possessed a stomach, and hers hurt most of the time. Humans were not supposed to ingest more than ten per day, but clams could eat them as needed. These tabs were tropically flavored, in delicate pastel colors. On her desk, beside her usual writing implements-pen, notepad -was a flip-top container that was more fun to feed off of it rattled percussively when she shook the tabs out into her palm. She kept rolls of them in her bag, and they got whittled down throughout the day with alarming speed. This is what clams and other shell-building animals use to make their shells. ![]() Since the clam’s separation from her partner, she had been consuming a lot of calcium carbonate. ![]() At first, the clam looked all around her, like, Who, me? Until she realized that her mother was addressing her. Last fall, after a rib-bruising bike crash caused by momentary inattentiveness and conditions of reduced visibility (sobbing while cycling) the mollusk had briefly succumbed to an episode of hysteria, during which her mother kept texting her to “clam down.” Clam down, she demanded in that sober, no-nonsense way. She hadn’t meant to become a bivalve mollusk, but it happened. ![]()
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