So bizarre lately. So odd. So unusual. And all things have a foggy, dreamlike haze that looms. It comes. It ceases. Breathing is hard and does not seem to happen automatically. I notice that I am aware of it and sometimes I try to mimic someone else’s breathing patterns. I find myself panting. Your rhythm is not mine. Your design, your composition, your delineation is not mine. I know. Autonomic functions do not feel so self-regulating. My epidermis, your epiglottis. I follow you into the brine but it feels like smaze. I follow you into the effluvium but it feels like saline. I’m baffled. I’m oriented. I’m evened, benumbed, and humble.