Weird experience this week. A disconnect or disassociation. I feel like I woke up from a dream and I don't recognize the body I am in. Like driving someone else's car for the first time. You know the basic functions of the car, how to make it go, how to make it stop, but things are in weird places, light switches, hood release, that kind of thing. I feel that way about my flesh vehicle. The graying, the softness around the center, the aches and pains, the time it takes to accelerate, the time it takes to even turn over. It feels foreign and I don't know what to do about it. To be honest, my whole life feels foreign at the moment. A kind of "how the fuck did I get here" sense about all of it. Like the Talking Heads sang, "same as it ever was," I can see exactly how I got to this specific point and place, I can trace my journey in chronological detail, and yet it still feels off, skewed. I had grand visions of the life I would lead, of the man I would become. I am not him. I am a flawed machine tripping over life. That great man destined to do great things is inside, a passenger observing the bumbling operator getting stuck in third gear, trying not to speak out and be a backseat driver. I need that great man to take the wheel. I need him to say, "Don't worry, kid. I've got it from here." So this is what 39 feels like?