Lexus starred out the window of the library, into the brightly lit, walled in courtyard. Sleep did sound appealing. She could feel her body ache for the simple nothingness of her pillow and sheets, but her mind ached for something different. Something stirred in the back of her mind, but it was nothing more than a light breeze pushing around heavy fog.
Stuck, she tried to tell herself, you feel stuck, and that’s okay.
No, it’s not okay. It’s not okay because it’s more than feeling immobile and stagnant. It’s feeling anxious, like I’ve ripened too quickly with an expiration date to follow. And that Cat, she thought, was that a sick delusion of my stuck-ness? Were the visions simply my mind taking over my reality because it’s just too plain and dull? Am I going mad?