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.