child.

It gets worse at night when there is nothing in my periphery to focus on. My thoughts walk away from me, starting first at the day's happenings, recreating every situation, every conversation. Who was that. Like a loose spool looking for a dark corner, running haphazardly into a hypochondriac's worst nightmare. That was wrong. It's harder to breathe and I am aware of it. Time to calm down. Time to pretend I am somewhere else, someone else, the second life I live being completely different from this one. Slipping into the familiarity of this place helps me sleep. Ignorance is bliss.