When I woke, my skin felt too alive. Touch has been nothing short of a separate awareness. The body screams with sensation, and the mind becomes exhausted making sense of it. Everything has become focused on a single point. A test pattern displayed with a tonal throb. The pain is exquisite. The pain is excruciating.
One of the three movies I rented today made me cry. It's always unusual love stories. Boundaries are systematically broken down until the images begin to work on me. Something is wrong, I say. I am lonely, but that's not it. No, I am not who I am. For the sake of avoiding pain and uncertainty, I am become something else, at least to myself. Or for myself. I can't explain it, I say.
...and I can't.
