Fashionable, but unable to tell fact from fiction (testing4l) wrote,
Fashionable, but unable to tell fact from fiction
testing4l

Is this real or is this just a dream? I gotta know -- things are weird now.

I was going to go to sleep when the catecholamine surge hit me and my heart started going at a thousand beats a minute. It wasn't really panic. It was a call to arms. I had to get up and I had to do something active. It was like a call from some higher power telling me to go do something, so damned if I didn't do it.

I haven't seen another living being for a while now. All the clocks are dead. Everything's quiet. I think this is some sort of suspended animation. I've just been sitting here, writing. Writing for hours. Writing code, writing poetry, writing personal ads, writing anything that came to mind.

But the thing is that I'm not feeling tired. It feels more like I've been cocooned in a comfortable shell and I just broke out of it. I know I have work later today. I know I should be tired. But I don't feel it.

Maybe -- just maybe -- there's a reason for this. Maybe I have to keep writing. But what happens if I stop? Does everything return to normal? Can anything go back to normal?

I'm consumed by this question -- it determines what I ought to be doing right now. Is this what I want to keep doing right now? It's like I tore a hole through the fabric of time and everything is irreversible. Or is it?

I remember reading once a theory about the Matrix. Neo breaks out of the computer-based reality. And then later -- in the real world -- he finds himself with extraordinary powers again. Almost like he broke through that reality as well. So, at that point, is Neo ever going to stop trying to break through?

I don't think so. I don't know. I have to put my foot down and say "Damn the consequences." I have to be me, even if the consequences are as severe as my slightly paranoid mind is wont to think.

It's all so fragmented and I can't keep track of what I've already said. Not with this damned drumming of keys that my fingers are pounding out, but no one's waking up to this.

I know at some point, there has to be a limit. There has to be a point at which I stop and sleep Either I'll never wake up and this won't matter or I will wake up. If I wake up, will everything be back to normal? What if it isn't?

I don't know -- but I beg of you. If you're real, tell me whether or not this is the same reality as it was yesterday. Give me news of your own predicament. Do you have a story like mine? Share it with me not unlike the pilgrims in the inn of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales from so long ago.

I'm not inclined to wait until my physical endurance has given out. I need an answer now. I'm going to stop typing right now. Here's to hoping this works.
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