There is a place. I do not know if it is only mine, or a place belonging to everyone. I am relieved that I visit it so rarely. When I do, the trips are memorable and frightful. Who knows how much mental and emotional energy is spent in nocturnal visits to this place?
Imagine that you have been awakened from a deep sleep. You have no idea how. A clap of thunder, a car horn in the street, or a commercial— suddenly louder— from the ever-playing TV in the next room.
You look at the clock and note with despair that you have only slept half of your night. You still have half to go. You are wide awake, but not rested. Damn!
Invariably, this place is filled with violence and passion, and memories too fresh to be forgotten.
Enemies are dealt with in a haze of hate and violence. Throats are slashed. Guts are spilled. Joints are dismembered. Struggling foes are tossed from thirteenth-floor windows.
Old friends and lovers are friended again, loved again, and lost again.
Every embarrassing situation, slip of the tongue, and step into poop is relived, never to be corrected… or forgotten.
Each decision that you have ever made is reviewed, requestioned, and relived with doubt. You are never comforted with the realization that you did indeed take the better road.
You look at the clock. Less than a half hour left until you must get up.
You beg, “Dear God, help me!”
Then, the alarm is going off.
As you sit up on the side of the bed and reach for your glasses and your teeth, you hear gushing from the ever-playing TV in the next room, the calm steady voice of Dr. Phil counseling some poor hopeless soul.
You realize that you are in yet another place.
Again, you beg. “Dear God, help me!”