You see I didn’t realize that I had completely stopped sleeping. Night after night, every night, I'd go from snoozing with...some enemy...my enemy...to the Torturous Recurring Nightmare. I'd be strolling through winding paths at some swanky, insane asylum in northern Massachusetts. The dream always began with me walking the grounds of the asylum. Then it all gets a little hazy.
In the morning I would slip out of bed, feeling relieved to know it was only a dream – but terrified that I'd dreamt it yet again. This is when I streak off to work (the office twenty feet away) terrified by the dream. What's it supposed to be telling me.
I'm terrified of my life, by the silence and the solitude; petrified of my unrelenting loneliness, like a decaying limb that needed to be amputated. Terrified by the fact that I have to walk into life and pretend everything is fine.
Everything is normal.
Everything is just fine.
But all of this was before … it was before I met the “Pod.”
To be continued …
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