dispassion

I am trying desperately to maintain a facade of dispassion this week. The difficulty arises that my own nature fights against it. I heal too well.

Last week, disinterest hung around me like a cloud. It was my shield, my armor. It worked a little like shark armor: I could still get crushed but not ripped apart. I made it through the week, and I can give my shield no higher praise than that. On Sunday, I made a full 24-hour fast just asking for strength to get through one more week.

I have handled my responsibilities with admirable efficiency. I was disciplined and focused. I just had to shut off my emotions to do so. I couldn't fight a two-front war. I'm not going to repeat Germany's errors. My detached attitude allows me to focus, to use my strength where it is needed. My strength really is quite priceless lately. It runs out as evening sets in, and doesn't stretch far enough for trivialities. Nora is annoyed, I think, that I attend fewer social activities. I still go to things, but I cannot go to everything. I need my evenings in order to reboot. Sleeping does not do it. Eating does not do it. Careful destruction and reconstruction in a quiet environment, that's what does it.

I'm worried, however, this morning by my almost cheery attitude. Usually, I cannot be unhappy for long (There have been exceptions, and I was beginning to think this was one). I'm annoyed, because it's a wasteful use of my energy. I am still remarkably un-invested emotionally. I don't care for the most part, but rays are peeking out around the clouds. In other words, I am not being dispassionate. There are chinks in my armor, and the sharks are still about.