Wake up uncertain, through blurred eyes reach out, unmask the dread box full of time:  3:33 AM.  I am untethering; I feel this, yes, I do.  I float above myself all day, drifting, occasionally deleting Russian spam, wondering when this gossamer thread shall fray, then sever, to release me.  I remember being young, staring at the ceiling, imagined walking on it, stepping over door frames to enter rooms; it seemed better up there.  My thoughts upside down, always, then and now; my records all broken, need to melt them down, re-groove with new sounds and words.