(Thank you, Fiona Apple, for providing the perfect post title.)
I am not sleeping well.
I toss and turn and kick and thrash, defending myself from dreams I cannot remember when I wake, wide-eyed and gasping for breath, starkly staring at the monstrous dark. My synapses misfire in the groggy confusion of coming-to, and my fight-or-flight mechanism malfunctions.
Overheated.
Frozen.
I am on my back…always on my back…Why am I on my back?…and as my muscles refuse to move, the night presses in on me, stealing my breath.
I count to three…to five…to ten…to calm…
A second? A minute?
It’s an hour, it seems, before I can move. Before I can breathe. Before I can be.
And then, finally, when my mind kicks into gear…
I am revved. Ready. Thoughts race.
Zero to 60 in 3.2.
I’m afraid one day I’ll bend my chassis coming out of the gate.
And, not knowing the details of what caused my spinout, all I can do is drive in circles seeking answers that do not exist.