It's cold and dark. I have an essay exam on Sister Carrie at 8:30 AM. Otherwise I'd be all right with the casual passage of time that counts down the minutes I will sleep. Maybe I can get six hours in.
Children's literature works through the nightmare, according to Ross. I lie in bed and create the nightmare. I can do this because I can trust it will be dispelled. There is waking, as I tread over the creaking wood in a pink house of a tired town.
I trust. I trust. I trust.
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