This is a drawing of a rabbit. It's just a sketch and doesn't look very much like an actual rabbit; the ears are wrong and it lacks the endlessly curious bunny nose. I won't go on with rabbit details (soft fur, various endearing noises). I'm not stupid, it's not a real rabbit, it's a sketch of a rabbit, and just a rabbit head at that. What's making me personally unwell lately is that for some reason if I say "that's a rabbit" people feel a real burning need to tell me that it's not a rabbit, it's a sketch of a rabbit, or better yet that it's not a rabbit it's a duck. Yes, I see the duck, too. I'm well versed in optical illusions; wait til I tell you the story about that beautiful young woman in a fabulous hat who turned into a hag overnight. But right now for a minute I want to talk about the rabbit. I don't understand why before I get to talk about the rabbit I have to acknowledge all the different ways of seeing it. I know about those, too. I do! But there is something about the particular brand of my fear that is wrapped up with wanting to have the thing I see validated. Maybe it's not there, the creak of the house, the smell of gas, the cold draft from a crack somewhere, and I ask "Did you...?" because if you didn't then I am, finally, crazy. But I don't think I am. Yes, there's a duck there. But... Did you see a rabbit? It's all I want to know. Do you see the rabbit? Because I see it.
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