I feel as though I've reverted back to my usual invisible state, a phantom gust through the hallways. And here I thought I'd broken myself of that annoying habit of not being seen....
Well, what does it matter, anyways? After all, it's not as though I'll die of this. No, the scars of tribulations past will protect me from the mild discomfort of not being visible. This is nothing, no matter how inconsequential it makes me feel.
Whatever. The years have taught me that I am a minor absent detail in the tapestries of others' lives, so I should expect only to escape notice. What dementia possessed me with the recent delusion that my place is in the forefront? I know not, but I discard it along with the phrase 'I'm important.'
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