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.

It had only been four months, but still the thought of him lingered like the aftertaste of a prerousal dream. I reached inside and brought the toothbrush into the light. It was still in its plastic casing, as though it had never been used. Memory begged difference.

I looked down at Sumo, gazing back at me with questioning, dark eyes. I would never have gone looking in the drawer if he hadn?t recently found my current toothbrush a tasty chew-toy. Reaching down to pat his head, I laughed to myself. A wave of giddiness washed over me, as I suddenly realized the implications of using the old toothbrush.

Toothpaste smeared easily from the tube onto worn bristles and I looked at it for a moment before running the head under the tap. I regretted not smelling the brush before using it. The idea of the scent ? old toothpaste and saliva ? sent a warm swell through my body. Sighing, shrugging, I stuffed the brush into my mouth.

Kurt wouldn?t be needing it anymore.

"Over here," I waved. She smiled and skipped over to me, wrapping her arms about my broad shoulders in one sweeping movement. The air she swept up in her arms between us smelled clean and summery.

"Whatcha up to, baby?" She grabbed my hand and guided me lightly across the courtyard of the school. We were floating, and no one even noticed. Wanting visible acknowledgement of her question, she glanced over her shoulder at me, and I winked.

"Usual mischief, I see," she giggled.

Our standard hangout under the courtyard stairwell was occupied, so we detoured the autoshop and crossed the street to an abandoned, Victorian church where we sat on the bench under a giant ash. She slipped off her backpack and unzipped it, shuffling around inside.

"So?" I asked her, expectantly. "What was the verdict?" Gracie dug through her bag, and shrugged her shoulders. I reached into my pocket and handed her a stick of gum.

"Thanks, babe." Setting her bag on the bench next to her, she swung her arm around my shoulder.

"Verdict, verdict, verdict," she sighed. "Well, I didn?t really get to talk to him about it at much detail..." She trailed off. Suddenly, she looked at me. "What would you do if he said, ?Yes??" Dramatic effect insisted I pause for a few seconds before answering that.

I would probably throw up all over myself, came out as, "I?m not sure." She chomped on her gum for a moment, and squinted at me from the corner of her eyes.

"Uh huh. I know what you would do," she said in a southern drawl. I chuckled, looking away. The wind shifted leaves filtering green light above us, and windchimes on the porch across the street sang indifferntly to the breeze. The warm air stirred up emotions with unfamiliar flavors. We sat like that for some time, her arm around me, my tongue in my head trying to sort out a mess of entangled feelings.

"Yeah," she said, distractedly. "Well anyways, he said ?Yes.?" She tossed the comment lightly over her shoulder as she glanced at students walking by the park. I sat silent, motionlessly supressing the bleeding exhilaration that swiftly flooded my senses. In--haleEx--hale. I watched her watch people passing, an air of feigned disinterest tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Did you hear me?" she finally smiled.

I took her hand in both of mine, and squeezing gently, smiled at the ground. She squeezed back and giggled. I mouthed a silent "Thank you."

The windchimes stirred again. This time, I imagined them thanking the wind for giving them a voice, for giving them life. In the distance, the school bell called us back with a quietly insistent tone, but we ignored it. We chose to listen to the windchimes, instead.

Today, the Greater and Lesser sides had a dispute over who should take control of the day?s schedule. It began as any dispute ? over minor, daily routine ? but quickly escalated into an all-out brawl. The fight had an unusual outcome, however. You see, normally, I can tell who has the better grip on the steering wheel and sometimes, but not often, the Greater gives into the Lesser for various reasons, and vice versa.

The remarkable part was, however, that while yin and yang were arguing, someone else took over the controls. It was as if an invisible fourth party had entered the bridge and simply took command without the Greater or Lesser knowing. It was pretty slick, I have to admit. I sat there, slackjawed and staring, while the day?s chores seemed to auto-pilot.

Lesser finally noticed and complained in an annoyingly high-pitched, but excitable voice: "If I don?t go shopping, this freakin? Gap gift certificate is going to burn a godamn hole in my pocket!" Greater sat with his arms crossed, and ignored Lesser. After all, the auto-pilot was doing pretty much what Greater wanted, so he decided not to complain.

As the day wore on, I began to realize that this fourth party wasn?t a persona at all, but rather an absence of persona. It was an ingrained, reflex response to various, daily stimuli that created an auto-pilot of responsibility. It couldn?t be swayed by the arguments of Greater or Lesser, and it would maintain control of the helm as long as there was something to be done.

The strange part was that the productivity which resulted brought me a great amount of satisfaction and happiness. Even the Greater and Lesser couldn?t complain, once the day was over. I wondered, how much happier would we be if we delighted in the simplest, most mundane activities and chores? A quote I once read, turned over and over in my mind.

"The simplest and most effective way to sanctity is to disappear into the background of ordinary, everyday routine."
--Thomas Merton

Quietly, suddenly, it came to me. I had realized that, without even trying, I had found a secret to an inner peace I never knew existed. The quarreling had diminished, and the arguing, conflicting drama within my head had subsided. A knowing smile slowly spread across my face. And when I turned around, they were smiling, too. With our newfound peace, we settled in for the night and I was content. All of me.

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