Shifting
     Returning from New Orleans on Ash Wednesday held a sense of passage for me. Although I'm not Catholic, I feel as though I've entered into a certain period of asceticism, and a blanket of calm has subdued my usual energy. It could be a residual effect from the binge drinking, but I think the principle, itself, holds a more powerful sway over my motivation.
     Recently, I've noticed my attitude and responsiveness to other people has been on the downward slide. It started with Eric. I can't blame it entirely on him, but while I was dating him, something happened to me that I can't quite put my finger on. I stopped talking and closed up, but I don't know why. I've spoken with many friends about my recent decline (or shift) in attitude and positive energy, but wasn't able to come to any conclusion. This is a mystery that my mind is savoring by the moment; it begs to be solved.
     I adopted a dog because I hoped that an animal would help me get back in touch with the humanity I've lost. The tiring hours, long nights, and endless frustration that come from training Sumo only seem to have succeeded in pushing me in the opposite direction. I'm crabby and upset most of the time. I also notice that whenever someone asks me how I'm doing, I reflexively respond by saying "Fine," without a question likewise. It's not like me.
     I feel like I'm changing, but I feel the same. I'm shifting into a new persona that is still identical to the old me, but a different shade. If I lose this part of myself, I know I'm done for. It's the part of me that has mourned the loss of every other piece of myself along the way. It mourned the passing of childhood wonder and of expectation and parental omniscience. It's the part of me that cares. If I lose it, I will be oblivious to any future disintegrations within myself. I will continue shifting into darker shades until I blend into the shadows of inhumanity.
     I've been dismissively grasping in the dark for an answer to why I've been fading away from myself, figuring I'd have a handle on it in no time (I always do). Now, I'm starting to get worried. My grasps are becoming more frantic by the day. It's like misplacing something and calmly believing you'll recover it without much effort, only to realize shortly after that you've truly lost it. You frantically excavate furniture, piles of laundry, knicknacks, and books, desperate to find it.
     Experience has taught me to calm down. Retrace my steps. Where did I have it last? Perhaps this calm that has settled over me is a good thing; it will help me think more clearly. As I curl up in bed, with Sumo by my side, I try to wash away the dirt from my mind. Inevitably, unconsciously, I reach out into the space within my head once more for an answer, but come up empty-handed.
     Before I fall asleep, I shift a bit more into the darkness.

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