I dreamt that I was helpless last night. Full of fear and radiating with the need to crawl into a small, dark place and hide.
There was a man with a gun on a bus. He was not angry, or stoned, or crazy. He was just looking for some fun.
My throat closed and my eyes burned with tears. My brain froze, all thought suspended, and I was terrified into inaction. I did the thing that I would never do, that thing that embodies my greatest fear: I sat, and waited to die.
Another dream. Another man. Another fear.
I had a portable vacuum cleaner in my hands, and a mission for cleanliness in my brain.
The man, horrible and bright and blond, didn't share my need for tidy carpets. With the power of his mind he reached out his hand and froze me in place.
As I struggled to free myself the muscles in my right leg popped. Coiled useless inside me, my desire dried up and died, but I defiantly pressed on.
I desperately want to work out today. I want to burn calories and fat and fear away on the treadmill. I need to feel that delicious ache-pain of torn muscle fibre. I want to lift weights, and build up lactic acid and an immunity against helplessness.
If only I could stop coughing.