Waving the White Flag

I feel as if I'm in slow motion. My movements are measured, my blood moves sluggishly through my body, and my breathing is shallow.

It's not a feeling of physical exhaustion, but rather one of mental retreat. My life is no more complicated than usual, quote-unquote normal even, but tonight it's of no real interest to me.

Maybe I have a dimmer switch on all my senses and someone has lowered it to a level that barely registers. I've no medicine in my system, no alcohol or drugs clouding my mind.

It's like sitting on the front porch at twilight, feet propped on the rail, sweaty beer can dangling from fingertips. Or rather, like I'm watching a movie where a character less detached than myself is participating in nightfall.

Perhaps, if I could get a night without troubling dreams, without playing a vicious round of what-if/if-only, I could start tomorrow with a renewed sense of purpose.

I think I'll go find out.