The October, November and December of 2001 were like an acid trip. The world all around me continued to exist in a clear and unimpaired way. I could hear it and I could see, so I knew it was there. I just wasn't in it.
There was no point in being in everyone else's reality. I had done my level best to succeed yet it still crashed down around me. In a flaming-stylie, like the Hindenburg in Lakehurst.
A large part of my mind had shut down and everything I encountered that Fall into Winter lacked a back-story. It had no information I could read that gave me any value on which to make a decision, any meaning for mind to stick a hook into.
The beautiful Wexford China dish that was my very aspirations, my hopes, the reality I had built had been smashed on the floor. All the pieces of the dish, mind you, were still there in front of me but it was impossible to discern any reason from what was really going on in its fragments.
Beautiful or ugly, enjoyable or dull, safe and dangerous were of equal interest. Recent past and long past had the same immediacy as the present.
And since in that state, all things existed for me in only three dimensions, it was very difficult to make good decisions.
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