66-XX26

Last night, I had a dream that should have been a nightmare.

In the dream, I was in a vessel suspended in space. We were stationary in what I can only describe as an oceanic expanse. It might have been my fault or someone else's, but the dream revealed that someone had gone looking for the limit of how far we could venture from the ship and accidentally unlocked the door to a monster that was coming to destroy us all.

though it was clear that everyone knew what was about to happen, I was the only one who noticed the moves we needed to make in order to stay alive. People were going about their days as if they didn't have to run, or at least as if they were in no hurry to. No one thought to reinforce the ship, prepare for battle, or even flee.

For a while, I found their behavior odd.

Until I realized that I had started doing the same thing.

After locking the main entrance and moving my car from the bottom level of the garage to the very first exit floor, I began taking my time gathering the things that were valuable to me. I eventually gave up packing because no matter how meticulous I tried to sort my belonging, nothing felt worth the weight of carrying them to my new life. And that’s when I found myself taking an everything shower.

During that shower, the thought of the monster felt miles and miles away, despite feeling the world tremble beneath its grip. I washed my hair as the vessel began to fall apart and put on my favorite nightgown as the water started flooding everything.

I watched the ocean waves, fascinated by how thick the foam was and how bright the waves appeared, even though they were the deepest blue I had ever seen.

I woke up with a calm heart that would usually be pounding out of my chest after dreams like this. For a second, I found myself wishing for the anxiety I used to have—the kind that forced me to do hard things in the face of danger.

Nowadays, my heart has become so still that I often wonder if I have any feelings left.

Have I lost my desire to be safe?

If the world were burning, would I care?

The world is burning, yet here I am creating a website, talking about my dreams, writing thank-you notes to those who have added color to my life, and taking midday naps.

I could focus on my responsibilities. After all, I am quite good at it. That is what I have always been.

But even the thought of it now makes me feel as though I would have to shed my own skin and climb into someone else's.

The monster did come.

I did not need to flee with a bag full of precious things, and I did not need to get to my car.

I simply needed to wake up and use the bathroom.

As I sat on the toilet, my feet planted on the cold hardwood floor, I started to question why I had drifted slowly into consciousness instead of jumping out of bed like I usually do after dreaming of disaster.

I thought about the list of things I need to do and the list of things people have been telling me to do.

Yet I still found myself here, in front of this screen, writing this as if it were the most important thing I could be doing right now instead of doing the actual work I have been avoiding for a length of time I would rather not share with you.

Am I this calm because I am convinced that I am invincible? That no matter what happens, I will not die?

Or am I this calm because I am certain that one day I will?