Sister morphine, when are you coming 'round again?

I started chasing my dad with a cricket bat in my hands. And then I woke up to look at the lazy ceiling fan. I could’ve resumed my lucid dream if I had closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep. I jerked my head to the right and stared at the cupboard for awhile and then I sat up in the bed with an urgency. There was a film of irritation that covered my eyeballs.

I felt shitty. I felt shitty because I was alone. But, there stemmed a sense of transient contentment from the realisation that I didn’t derive any pleasure from the fact that I was alone. It was only momentary and I started feeling shitty again.

My throat was parched. I got off the bed and located the water jug. The flexors of my thighs ached while I walked. I swallowed large mouthfuls of water hastily and immediately regretted drinking too much of water. My stomach gurgled and I regurgitated sour acid. I was junk-sick.