a seven-day descent (work in prog)

Grace Ford
Large group read 3/4/10
Seven Day Descent
It took me seven days to realize I’d misplaced my mind.

I just lost it somewhere random, like the subway, or my dentist’s office. I gradually, hesitantly, began to notice through the fog of my life that my surroundings were warping into backdrops I didn’t recognize; people who I thought were complete strangers were calling themselves my friends, my family. When I was made aware of my personal unraveling I was surprisingly unsurprised. I had already suspected my mind had been moonlighting as someone else’s, having woken up on more than a few occasions with different clothes on and unexplained bruises. Once there was a half-eaten sandwich resting on my ches. I’ve also spent months trying to convince myself that my dog, Paul, has not been speaking dirty words, and insulting me. I swore I heard him grunt, “Fuck this,” when I forgot to pick up dog food from the supermarket. I also tried to put him in a sweater once.

Crazy is an animal in human clothes.

I didn’t give much thought to the foreshadowing moments in my life until my mind completely lost itself in one week. Seven days of decent. I really had no say in the matter. Over the course of one week I could practically see my sanity pack up, tip its hat and gradually, ungracefully, fly out of my head, making a straight shot to the exit, leaving me with half-eaten toothpaste sandwiches and shit talking dogs.

The week began on Monday, as they usually do, when I thought I heard someone buzzing to get into my walk-up studio apartment. I pushed the button to receive the visitor.
Who is it?