God, it's happened again . . . the nightmare from Hell. This time, I killed someone. Not just me, but three other people, and we're trying to get our stories straight . . . no, not some procedural CSI but some messy nightmare in which I know I can't take it back, ever, and that they're going to find out the awful truth, it's only a matter of time . . . crime scene, blood everywhere, how can I possibly hide the truth?
Ouf. This is the second time in as many days where I've woken up in a cold sweat. Hey, Doc, what do you do for a cold sweat? Putain de merde, que la vie m'enmerde. If sleep is not your refuge, where can it be?
I'll be okay, my faithful, fabulous flock. Just not that guy who takes my place when I close my eyes. I somehow think he won't be okay. Psychiatrists no doubt will have a field day.
Details at 11.
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