If it's Tuesday, I must be soul sick.

Introspection should always begin with a soul-shaking sigh.  And, Goo Goo Dolls lyrics.

And I don't want the world to see me;
'Cuz I don't think that they'd understand....
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.

I suppose the best way to describe what's going on is by analogy, or allegory, or some other such bullshit that scholars and saviors use to mask a personal truth with a universal one.

I went through a period of time when I had to contort this sorry excuse for a body into the fictional proportions of John Merrick.  I would warm up, of course, get the muscles all pliable and stretchy, and slowly work my way into the posture.  And then, I'd walk.  And talk.  Sometimes, a lovely but sadistic director would dress me in hat and cloak and send me on a forced march, to experience being shunned by normals.

As if I needed any help with that.  Have we met?

And after a while, this posture became, in my mind and in the muscle memory of the aforementioned 'poor excuse for a body', normal.  And proper posture became abnormal.

I can remember the first time I pulled up to my full height, and felt every...single...muscle in my back to *pop!*

And then, in adjusting to that mess, it became a different kind of thing, and pretty soon, every picture I have had my head doing some weird ducking thing.  And I became old before I was supposed to.

Are you ahead of me now?  Do you see where I'm heading?

In truth, my soul is suffering from the same thing as my body did; it's been twisted up for so long, it now longer recognizes 'True North."

So, exercise is in order.  Introspection necessary.

Maybe not so much with The Goo Goo Dolls, though.

Perhaps Wang Chung instead.