I inhabit a different body now. Each day, it seems, another self wakes up and heats the coffee. I can distinguish, even gauge, the passage from a disturbed youth to a disturbed adult by the subtle aggressiveness in my anxiety. Sometimes I catch myself sitting on the edge of the sofa, staring into the flickering glare of the television, like a deer on some highway transfixed in shock by the headlights of a car. As these images pass, I can feel them feeding my own inertia. Other times, I am overloaded with a smooth, graceful energy, filled with an almost incomprehensible joy.