I don’t consider myself introspective by nature. I have never kept a journal. You can see how good I am about writing regularly. But I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around. I feel great. That’s not the problem…but at the same time that is the problem.
I haven’t been doing anything differently. I get up. I go to work. I’m a “tech support specialist.” It’s nothing glorious. I answer phones and help people with their computer problems. I work in a small “office”, a grungy room on the third floor of an even grungier building. I don’t have to wear a tie or anything. Every once in a while I’ll go out to a location physically if the necessary, but rarely. I don’t wear a tie then either.
I have a car, but it’s a beater. I usually walk or take the bus to work. It’s not that I don’t make money. I just don’t really have any reason to spend it. All I do is go to work. I come home at the end of the day and eat bachelor food in front of the TV. I watch Law & Order. Maybe drink a beer, beat off, and go to bed.
At any rate, up until now, I’d say the walking is probably the only reason I haven’t become a complete fat slob. That and the fact that I tend to pace when I’m on the line with the same customer for too long. I haven’t changed my routine much. And still, over the past couple of months I have been noticing changes. I don’t spend a whole lot of time looking in the mirror, but I couldn’t help noticing differences lately. It must have happened so slowly I didn’t even realize it until lately. Like I said, I wasn’t in horrible shape, but the chub that was surreptitiously insinuating itself around my middle seems to have melted away. I have abs again. Mini love handles, gone. I can’t say I don’t spend a few extra minutes now admiring the sinewy new look of my limbs.
Mom and Dad have noticed too. I go out to their house in the country about twice a month to visit. (They always ask me if I need money, so I must have looked worse off than I realized.) They say I look better than ever. Asked me if I’ve been going to the gym. I just smile and shrug. I tell them I cut back on the alcohol, that must be the reason for the improvement in my physique. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it seems like a good enough segue to finally ask them about Christmas Eve. They have not mentioned it to me, which perplexes me, and I have not had the courage to ask them exactly what I did during the time I ”lost” that night.
I mention that I must have drank too much because Christmas Eve is “fuzzy” (I don’t want to come right out and admit that I can’t remember shit from after dinner on.) They look at one another with a mixture of confusion and genuine surprise. They said I barely drank anything, that they saw. And that I didn’t seem drunk at all. In higher than usual spirits, maybe, but not drunk.
What is happening to me? Something, I’m sure. I feel normal or better than normal most of the time. I look better. But I keep losing time. That’s another reason why I started writing all of this down. I’ve started to keep track of the blackouts… and the strange feelings. There seems to be a pattern. A few days of excellent health and wealth of spirit (ha ha) around the same time every month… Am I making too much out of this?
I feel it coming on again. It’s a feeling somewhere between anticipation and dread. An itch waiting to be scratched. If only I could reach it. I feel my energy amping up. The weather has been unseasonably hot this week. Sticky. Humid. The moisture hangs heavy in the air and on it rides a multitude of strange smells, smells I know, but can’t put my finger on. They tease me, daring me to follow, seek out their source. Is that where I will go in a day or two when my time and my memory wander off like a lost dog?