Maybe, as time passes, we do change. Not just in hairstyles or income brackets or physical mailing addresses, but in the core tenets of our philosophies.

I've never, at the end of the day, believed that - I've never thought we really change, at the core. I've seen too many of us come through too many fires, singed but still shaped just the same. Sure we learn, sure we grow, but I tend to think of us all as parts of highly individual sundials. Capable of casting many shadows in different hours, yet standing as inherently unmoving, as fixed in metaphysical orientation, as any gnomon you might name.

However, upon reexamining one of the major touchstones of my soul, my latest metaphorical rubbing seems different in coloration. No doubt, this different shading is readable in my aura. There is new data that does not jibe, that falls outside the simple bounds of the plot I always plow.

Something I honestly thought would be true of me forever seems to have fallen false, and I find myself shaken. I'm looking for a way to reinterpret, some way to discard the outlier, without losing that sense of scientific rigor that (no matter how this current matter turns out) I will not abandon on either side of the grave.

It's possible there's some eclipse underway that's distorting the sundial of myself, but there's no way to differently interpret the way this shadow is falling.

I just took a few moments to watch and listen to Janeane Garafalo.

I did not find her interesting. At all. I was, on no level, captivated.

Sensitive meters of galvanic skin response would have detected precisely no important stirrings.

How the FUCK does that happen? She was even wearing the glasses!

Did something important get shot off me in the war, that somehow I didn't notice? Did I doze through some trip to the vet, and get tutored without realizing it?

I even rewatched it. Nothing.

I think I might be broken.

Does anyone have a copy of "The Truth About Cats And Dogs" I can borrow?

Perhaps I just need a long bath...