The night is still young and I’m already awake. My face has pieces of sticky glue on it. It will need some more days of oil and rubbing. Memories are sticky brain implants. And I got many.

My last dream was restless. The fiftyfifty state bothers me. It is much about getting better and still having nothing. A 24 hours focus on what has happened.

I even saw an emergency car when walking home from the hospital; and it stroke me again that I didn’t panic anymore. Although I am still suspicious. Having such a car coming for you is an awkward and intimidating event. And nothing compared to the hospital soaps on TV. But there has been a time they came for me and I felt like dying. Horrible pains and grasping for my breath. There’s little necessary to feel tortured. And the human body is capable of it. So I became scared by my own body. That sticky memory is glued in my brain and it will take awhile to dissolve it.

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