"Sometimes," his hands spasmed, "I can't tell if I'm dreaming or awake."
He shook slightly, and the trial of staying....of remaining in reality began.
He could remember days before all this...when he had had no desire for escape, for release.
Now there were days on end where he'd just lie in his bed.
Thinking...dreaming...lost in a world that knew no time nor place.
Then, he would wake up.
He'd make coffee, he'd fry his eggs, he'd go to work.
Then, he'd do it again.
His hands convulsed.