Calibrate

Last night as I slept, the flood of emotions that repeatedly pushed me up against the rough retaining wall of common sense subsided, leaving me exactly where I predicted myself to be—standing in the middle of an utterly destroyed, waterlogged floodplain that sat silent in an eerie yet undeniably pleasant calm. Last night, I reset, I recalibrated my emotions, and woke up. The cool summer morning echoed my reboot as a hard rain gave way to a smooth, foggy morning.

I don’t mind breaking down, because even though it hurts, afterwards I always feel surprisingly refreshed. My point of view shifts dramatically, lofting and panning out far enough to see the consequence to every action, past and present, and I can appreciate the beautiful matrix of decisions and logic that map out before me as I sit shivering and tear-drenched long enough to accept them and move on.

We drove to work separately today, she alone and I with my father, but somehow still managed to spend time together, sharing a meal out of my lunchbox and taking my daily walk as friends. Things were awkward, but decidedly much less than previously—I only found myself staring at her body twice and thinking of us tangled up in each other thrice. It was a walk unlike any other, as I shared with her parts of my routine previously unbeknownst to her and shared with myself the knowledge that I could be in an un-relationship like this without “freaking the fuck out.”

Of course, as I press on through the tunnel of time, pushing thoughts and ideas to one side or the other like spider webs in a dank cavern, my emotions will change, will rise and fall, and will make me happy and sad, respectively; however, I must stay vigilant. If ever I feel too sad or, heaven forbid, too happy, I must remind myself that this deviance from my normal, this painful or pleasant deformation of my day-to-day, should only be temporary. Any sustained fluctuation, even positive, can prove detrimental and, on a larger scale, dangerous to my mental and physical health.

Reminders of this kind come in many different forms—heartache and nervous breakdowns, anniversaries and milestones—and every one is processed in much the same way: My sub-conscious changes its point of view, lofting and panning out far enough to see the consequence to every action, past and present. I analyze and accept the beautiful matrix of decisions and logic that map out before me. Then, I close my eyes and go to sleep.