Thrirty-Three Degrees of Me

In the daylight hours, I refuse all my thoughts of him, but at night it consumes me. What a catastrophe I'm in. How can I be apart of this? Why do I feel so overwhelmed with this duty of being the primary person that cared in the relationship, social coordinator, and somewhere amongst my stolen moments, now a writer. How are you supposed to call someone and tell them your distress, if they are the one's causing it? I could try to tell him, but what use would that be? He would only reiterate how exhausted he was from me, and again, "walking on eggshells". We'd been fighting, I'd been crying, and we were wary in that way people are when no one knows what to do. We had become relationship refugees.

This part of my story is not the happiest, I know, but I share it here because something occurred to me on that electro-cryonics shock night that will change my life forever, or the progression hereof. Almost like one of those crazy super events, like when something falls out of space. Though this feels more like a science fact I once remembered after earthquakes occur. If there is an earthquake, and it shifts the crust 33 degrees, the poles will reverse. And so it is with this advice that I've decided: He's caused a quake, and I've shifted. Only this time, the poles are reversed, he will now become me.