I suppose I should’ve recognized the caveat of being in this body. Nothing ever feels the same. The next time I’m gone and the next time I’m back, I’ve lost touch with reality once again. And like some frantic seamstress who's needle gets caught in the fabrichead of this world, I am always "out of the loop and spinning myself a new one," before collapsing ungracefully into the next. And each time it happens, it’s another fierce swing of my bat, hoping with all my might for a homerun, when in fact, this is soccer.