Now that it was over, I wasn’t completely sure what to do with myself. So I naturally started a new half-insane project. I worked furiously and slept feverishly. Few short intervals, intense and mind-numbing dreams, I woke up when I couldn’t take anymore. Life seemed less stressful and far less upsetting than the dreamworld. I rejected you and made a point out of pushing any thought of you I had, far away with both arms. I pulled myself backwards and could eventually break free. But I would fall into the dreamworld and there every thought I had pushed away, was waiting for me. “Hello” they said “How are we doing?”

The answer was pretty obvious. “Splendid” I smiled. “How about a cup of tea” and we would sit down, just like before, and have a nice long conversation where I would say silly things and you nodded with a serious look on your face, bored out of your wits, inserting standard replies representing long since cemented point of views. At least that’s how it worked in my dreams.

You called me the other day. Was it yesterday? You had me thrown in another one of your curious little time twists by saying “I’ll call you later”

24 hours after I’m still doing the maths of differences in zones and perceptions and rhythms of time. Also, it could be a cultural thing, I argued. Nothing seemed to quite fit and the debate went on long into the small quiet lonely hours. I didn’t rest. Food didn’t taste good. Music was sounds. Talking was strange and forced and staged. Who am I playing again?  I had to dig deep in the books for this one.