Life is a highway perpetually under construction

Annnnnnnnd let the random begin:

I am neither sleeping nor eating enough.

It’s nice being back at one-eight-five though.

I keep having the oddest dreams, a-cee-you dreams with an em-four I’ve named lucy.

(I enjoy spelling things phonetically.)

All of the bruises and scars have new meanings in this dream; they no longer make sense when I am alert in the waking world.

I find myself thinking, over-thinking everything I think I know to be true about this life.

Always I search for purpose, for some sort of rational order to the chaos that is reality. I have always been a seeker, I wonder now what it is I have sought.

Thumping-metal-raid-music is the soundtrack. Sometimes in the background-quiet, now growing louder.

Sand and dirty water clash in explosions of sound and color; an oft-conflicting riot of sensory input pushes the world fully off-kilter as my boots hit the ground. Everything dials down to a scoped-view of about thirty-eight degrees. Red donut firmly in the center.

Almost memories they are. I always awake feeling like time has warped and it’s two-thousand-two again, a ball-chain around my neck, gritty with sand and sweat. Lost in the glare of a desert reflected from the polarized lenses I wear.

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