Whenever I say things like, I believe there will be a major catastrophic event before the next presidential election (in our country), people ask me how I know I’m right; how I can be so sure. I tell them, “I’m right. I’m sure.”
I suffer from the unfortunate condition which does not allow me to close my eyes. It just so happens that, at the same time, I am destined to live out my days in a cube-shaped void in which the single, naked, high-wattage light bulb, that hangs in its exact center and is higher than I am able to reach, is not connected to an on/off switch. It is therefore always on. Naturally, under such circumstances it is impossible to sleep. I haven’t slept normally in years.
Whenever I get overly exhausted, I lapse into a coma. There I remain until my system has had a chance to reset itself. Sometimes it takes weeks, during which time I am fed intravenously.
It’s perhaps fair to say that, because of my condition and circumstance, I view life somewhat differently from others. For one thing, I experience life as a series of jolts. Each time I reawaken it is with my near-photographic memory completely in tact. I examine my surrounding anew and note what has changed. My neighbors are seldom aware of the changes to which I draw their attention. They are living the life of the proverbial frog that finds itself in a pot of water that is slowly being brought to a boil.
My ‘jolts’ can be plotted as the points on a graph. Connecting the dots, the line slopes invariably downward, toward some sort of abyss. The slope has been growing steeper in recent years. It is now almost vertical. I can practically predict the precise moment when we will reach the end. After that, though, all my calculations collapse into chaos and my predictions fail me.
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