My mood changes from bubbly to pensive in the space of an hour. And such little phrases, little fragments of thoughts that do not fit at all to the next. Disjointed speech, thoughts that make no sense to even the avid listener. My moods force me to play charades with the others, and very often we lose simply because there is nothing logical in my little mimes. Even as I write this, it takes me far too long to string semi-coherent sentences. I cannot even make sense of what I write.

Perhaps I need more sleep. Perhaps I need less. The whole body is drugged by my dreams that include vampires and boggy ground, and graveyards that consist of buried urns, or the hard embrace of a dreamlike figure with a degree of separation. Blood and volcanoes, skyscrapers, my mind is a map of dreams, a cartographical landscape that spans worlds and time, ruled over by a tiny man that sits and plays with a spool of string. My whole body is stiff and unresponsive, the blood having congealed from being tied up too long.