I wonder if you've ever had the feeling.
It comes just on the edges of sleep, right in that sliver of time between waking and not. You jolt awake because you feel like you're falling, only to find that you're safe in bed.
Well, it's a bit like that.
Only, when it happens to me, my eyes fly open only to find that I am in strange places I've never seen before. Attics, passenger seats, empty subway cars. I can't explain it, except that it started happening after Alan dropped my hair dryer in the sink and I tried to rescue it. Shocking yourself is never a good idea.
Tonight, it is a farm. I am in a field of grain that's swaying gently, the light wind making trickling sounds among the tall stalks. I breathe in deeply, because the transition - that's how I think of it - always leaves me breathless.
I trudge through the whistling grain, lit from the back by the light of a moon that I cannot see from this angle. I'd be scared, except I am long past scared. I've come to expect things like this to happen every time I fall asleep.
When I reach the road, I choose left.
Getting home is always the hard part.