Gripped by an exhaustion that resides in my bones, nothing save my survival instinct could stir me out of bed this morning. Nine hours of sleep and 24 ounces of coffee could not succeed in returning to me my mental or sensory acuity. I feel as though I am only half alive.

It is not an unfamiliar thing for me to feel strong and at peace one day only to suddenly awake lonely, tired and anguished the next. It is true that my sensitivity can, at times, leave me vulnerable to those passing gales of emotion that humans, to varying degrees, contend with daily; but it frustrates me when I cannot identify the source of these winds.

Without any external or internal event that I can identify as a root cause I am left with the helpless feeling that I am perhaps doomed to be a slave to my emotions or, to put it in less hyperbolic terms, I am again left with the responsibility of managing them. I can. I will. But, perhaps immaturely, I curse the heavenly beings I do not believe in for not allowing me to more frequently live with greater ease.

What was special about my four days of peace? I was not overly introspective. My activities were conducted with an eye toward enjoyment rather than self-soothing. How happy I am when I feel like an animal: simple, present, alive and without longings or neurosis. I just….am.

As I write I look down at my fingers. They are dancing lithely upon the keyboard as though they were separate and distinct beings with their own will. I pause and in that instant understand why possession myths are so ubiquitous: they are the perfect metaphor for any and all disembodied states; for those moments when one asks: “Where am I? Where did I go? Who is controlling this vessel?”

I must stop. I see that in this instance writing is making me feel more lost. I must return to the tasks that may return me to myself. Ah, there it is! The tears roll down my cheeks. “I must return to the tasks that may return me to myself”. This brought forth my tears. MY tears. Yes. I am lonely. That is all. Lonely. The bed…it held me. The covers…they embraced me. And my sleepiness but a whisper that urges me to return to my lover and companion. “I am my own companion!” I respond in defiance, “leave me be!”

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