From here to...

I wonder whether dreams are actually reality and what I'm doing now is just my brain making sure it's functioning properly. It would be nice if dreams were real. A lucid dreamer's life would be perfect. Never monotonous, never ugly. You could fly, travel time, create the perfect mate, look exactly as you would want to, have the most fantastical adventures. Compared to the dream world, waking life seems extraordinarily dull, to put an oxymoron into practice.

...

And another thing. I won't forgive you for appearing in my dream last night. I was stable, neutralized before you started talking to me again. It's dangerous adding another chemical to the mix, you've no idea what you've started. 

It angers me that I enjoyed my dream as much as I did. Your text subtracted four hours from my sleep pattern last night. Fuck you, don't do this to me now. I've only just gotten some traction on these weathered tires and anyhow, I've had enough of the ditch, we're well-acquainted.

Just tell me what to expect. My bruises are still vivid from the first punch, I fear a second one would collapse my cheekbone, drive bone splinters into my brain, knock me out of the ring for good. Tell me what to expect so that I know which side to brace myself for contact.

And so the chemicals react. The pressure builds.