Waking up, I already knew I couldn't be back at my place.
The cushions… were just too soft, too comfortable, too relaxing.
And the bed back at my home was nowhere near this kind of quality, making my brain scatter for clues long before I actually opened up my eyes.
But the more awake I grew, the worse and worse the situation became.
'This isn't just the bed alone that's so comfortable, is it?' I asked myself, using the slow breaths of my acted-out sleep-breathing pattern to slowly drive my nerves to a fake-out calm.
'Well, whatever it is, I can't really change the reality by ignoring it, can I now?'
This was exactly how I grew up to be, to be a small man who would rather run from responsibilities than face them head-on, despite all of my parents' attempts to set me on the straight path.
