Cooler than water as sleet, the room refreshed my awakening body. My mind was still in the dream-time and would not come around to the day until far after lunchtime, but there at work I would be, waiting, talking, listening, writing; oblivious to the good things in the air, only noticing the horrid traces of beuracracy threaded into every ink on the paper, and every ounce of backwash in coffee mugs.
My clothes fit for once. The secret to the diet was there is no diet. I eat what I want, then, work it all off. Sometimes it feels like an honor to sweat, only because of my bizarre metabolism. I run six miles and gain eight pounds. I stop running, lift heavy weights, and lose ten. In between, the food that has willingly grown numb to taste. It's no longer food, it's chemistry; always has been chemistry, but I never knew it until that summer shortly after Ed's death.
"Where are you right now?" she asked.
"Hm?"
"You stopped breathing. You're thinking too hard again."
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