The second night of insomnia. I'm not sure if it's fatigue or maybe the after-effects of surgery or maybe the coming to terms with new diagnoses, but my intuition fails me. Back in Crazy Land, I have conversations but I can't determine the mindset of participants. I hate not being able to read people. I'm frustrated and baffled by my insularity. I need to see inside their heads. I'm fairly certain that no one else here is attuned to the subtleties of human interaction. Otherwise, they might have noticed the distance in my eyes. They might have heard my voice coming from far away, as if I were standing in an empty room. On the one hand, it's a very good thing: I'm never vulnerable. On the other hand, it's a very lonely experience.
Clearly, I'm not myself. Whomever that may be at this point.
