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content/read/011.md

@@ -116,7 +116,7 @@ However, you talk about other intoxications. I am no stranger to insomnia, and y
 
 One thing this reminded me of, though, was of when I had just turned twenty and got incredibly sick. I had a very high fever, and when it was at its worst, I felt as though I was being offered a chance to peek behind a curtain, or at least see the shadows moving around backstage beneath the hem of it. I felt that I was granted a glimpse of some thinner reality that sat just behind our own. I was writhing in my bed, unable to hold still, with my back arching and my tongue sticking out, and yet there was this sense of the numinous and a short wave of ecstasy, and I felt pleasantly drunk. I don't know what "when a man is drunk and drinks himself sober ere he stir" means. Does it apply to functional alcholism? Even if it does, it feels like that moment. When I was in fever, I burned all the brighter before I got better, and in that moment, I saw the most clearly.
 
-> While walking along in desert sand, you suddenly look down and see a tortoise crawling toward you. You reach down and flip it over onto its back. The tortoise lies there, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs, trying to turn itself over, but it cannot do so without your help. You are not helping. Why?
+> While walking along in the desert, you look down and see a tortoise making its way toward you. You reach down and flip it over onto its back. The tortoise lies there, its belly baking in the hot sun, waving its legs back and forth, trying to right itself, but it cannot do so without your help. You are not helping. Why not?
 
 I don't know. I don't know why I flipped it, and I don't know why I'm not helping it, but I see myself there, watching it flail around, and I'm sobbing. I'm sobbing because for some reason, I'm not flipping it over and I wish against everything that I could give it relief. I feel guilt and shame in equal measure, and I watch myself beat my fists against my thighs, trying to force myself to do the thing, do the thing, just *do the thing.*
 
@@ -145,7 +145,7 @@ This is the crux of the problem, isn't it? I am convinced, on some level, that I
 
 > Before whom do I kneel, contrite?
 
-That part of me that says, "No, you are not a god." And when I beg his pardon, he laughs and says, "No amount of contrition will get you into a place separated from you by an impossibly large gap. Only death will get there, and you are not worth that."
+That part of me that says, "No, you are not a god." And when I beg his pardon, he laughs and says, "No amount of contrition will get you into a place separated from you by an impossibly large gap. Only death will get you there, and you are not worth that."
 
 > Behind whom do I await my judgment?