Every so often I will look down at my body and wonder who it belongs to. Like, I'll be sitting at my computer, and I look at the screen, and then I look down. My hands are placed neatly on the keyboard, not moving. I can almost not feel them. My head starts to feel strange. Not light, necessarily, but disattached. Disengaged. Distant. I am positive that those hands down there on the keyboard don't belong to my body. How can I explain the feeling? I can almost see the whole body over there on the swivel chair, and it just doesn't seem like mine. Whose body is sitting there? Who is living my life while I am sitting here in their body for them? Who is out doing all the things I want to do, and LIVING while I am sitting here filling in their spot, and dying? That's what I wonder about sometimes. Which lucky bitch ended up with my life. I hope she's enjoying her time in Italy. I hope she gets to see Venice and Paris and go sky diving and climb Mt. Everest She mustn't forget to buy that $700 camera, and use it to take pictures of the Alps. I wonder what she's enjoying most in Greece and Sicily. How many languages she can speak by now? I hope she gets to the Louvre, Madame Toussad's, and Ayers Rock. And she'd better be enjoying the life she has, because she could have gotten worse: she could have landed the one i'm living for her.

Let me add to this, after having read what baffo said:
What is stopping me from doing these things? What is holding me back from locating the usurper of my dreams and living them myself? So it's friends, or family. So there are practical considerations. But here I am, and there are strange hands in front of me on the keyboard. I'm not sure that my awareness of detatchment is a bad thing. Because maybe this time I'll be spurred into action, Maybe this time I will take hold of my future and try to shape it my way.