“If only I could fallsound asleep and wake up in my old reality!”

“sometimes i'd wake up at two or three in the morning and not be able to fall asleep again. i'd get out of bed, go to the kitchen, and pour myself a whiskey. glass in hand, i'd look down at the darkened cemetary across teh way and the headlights of the cars on the road. the moments of time linking night and dawn were long and dark. if i could cry, it might make things easier. but what would i cry over? i was too self centered to cry for other people, too old to cry for myself.”

“When I wake up, my pillow’s cold and damp with tears. But tears for what? I have no idea.”

“I get up out of bed. I pull back the old, faded curtain and openthe window. I stick my head out and look up at the sky. Sureenough, a mouldy-coloured half-moon hangs in the sky. Good.We’re both looking at the same moon, in the same world. We’reconnected to reality by the same line. All I have to do is quietlydraw it towards me.”

“And now I'm really, really, really tired and I want to fall asleep listening to someone tell me how much they like me and how pretty I am and stuff. That's all I want. And when I wake up, I'll be full of energy and I'll never make these kinds of selfish demands again. I swear. I'll be a good girl.”

“I wake up, but where? I don't just think this, I actually voice the question to myself: "Where am I?" As if I didn't know: I'm here. In my life. A feature of the world that is my existence.”

“The wakefulness was always there beside me. I could feel its chilling shadow. It was the shadow of myself. Weird, I would think as the drowsiness overtook me, I’m in my own shadow. I would walk and eat and talk to people inside my drowsiness.”