Lucid

Watching them talk was like watching a firing squad. Tense, dreadful, sweaty, wondering why people were letting this happening to me. Shouldn't there be a blindfold? Shouldn't there be a last cigarette? Shouldn't they ask me if there's anything else I would like to say? I have some words.

When they left it was all I could do to not black out, hit my head on a table, break a window, all of the above. I sat there on the sofa trying to look like I had it all together. Oh, he's not upset, they'd think, he's not antisocial, he's just too cool. Look at him.

She'd come to me, I thought, surely, someone would. I'd sit there looking cool, I'd sit there sipping. Slowly looking from right to left, left to right, right to left again. People were talking over music and laughing over drinks. People were getting ready for... what? The rest of the night? The rest of their lives?

Someone woke me up, asked me if I lived there. Enough silence and people get the idea. I dreamt about them talking, too. The agony is thorough and it is complete. I have a choice between working on my courage and working on my lucid dreaming. I think the lucidity will come much quicker. And, if not, it's still the way I'll go.