~Perspective

...and the day wears on.

Touched up my "100 things" list. Moved some empty boxes around. Vacuumed my floor... part of it, anyway. I think I ate.

I feel stoned. The day is dragging. My eyes are slow. Everything looks kind of abstract.

Sometimes, I see little flecks of light... sometimes, everything looks flat... sometimes my vision gets hyperintense and even the pores in my skin are vivid. Sometimes, I look at my hands, and I know that they're not mine.... that they're not real... that they're just somehow moving on their own.

My tattoos... sometimes, I look and them and they don't seem real. It seems like they were part of a story I read. They're not from my life. I didn't put them there. Someone else was using this body, but it wasn't me.

Somebody else is writing this. It can't be me.