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Marts 17., 2015
 | 10:48
For several weeks, if the Force disappeared for a minute, or an hour, I'd be back, right back, in the world of sofas and coffee tables, of meals and sleep, of veins and arteries freed of the Force. How fine, how subtle the difference was between "normal" and "other". It was less than a shift of focus from one rose to another in a vase.
Then I would take a breath and realize it wasn't subtle at all: my new reality held my death each night.
At home, when I was supposed to be preparing to defend my dissertation, I sat for hours during the day, staring. Not thinking. Not listening. Not seeing. That put me in perfect orbit around a warming sun, a sun which loved me, the Force itself. Only it wanted me dead.
/Roberta Payne. Speaking to My Madness/
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