41My hospital bed was soft and warm. The air, clean. Everything was usual. I had closed the door to keep the hallway sounds out. Sitting up in a semi-lotus position with legs crossed and arms relaxed, I'd placed the pillow in the small of my back against the headboard and leaned back. With my robe on, it wasn't particularly cool in the room.
Now I could finish thinking things through.
I didn't know that I really wanted to.
If I considered that this hospital dream was a generated fiction, then that just lead to a series of shells - an endless conspiracy theorem with no limit to who was doing what to whom.
Taking any of my other dreams seriously was the next choice. Which one was the "real" one? Or were any actually real?
This was the point of choice. The "most real" one was the one I w
