Wasn’t as bad as it would have been if I had gone straight to my parents. My mom would have a million things to say about my lifestyle and “those restaurant hours aren’t good for you, why can’t you just consider going to college” but that wouldn’t even be the worst part. No, if I tell my mom and dad that I’m having an unusually difficult time staying awake, they’ll make me go see their doctors. Their special doctors. And I just don’t want a bunch of people poking and prodding at me to see if I burst into flames. I’m nearly twenty—if I were Atypical, we’d know by now. Or my mom would have had a vision about it. Something would have happened. But no, instead I have to be the ONE person in my family with a normal human ailment. And I just couldn’t stand the disappointed looks when the Atypical doctors tell my parents I just have extreme anxiety or narcolepsy or whatever other boring non-superpowered thing I might have.

So we’ll give this dream journal thing a shot.

There’s a door in the middle of the void. It isn’t shaped like a door, doesn’t have a handle or a frame, but I know that’s what it is. Light seeps through the cracks around its curved edges and I can feel a breeze, crisp and clean, flowing through from the other side. I walk toward it, my feet tracking over something solid, even if there’s no floor beneath my feet, wanting to see what’s on the other side.

The light fades and I wake up.

AUGUST 27TH, 2016

Describing dreams is … hard. Not to mention, usually mind-numbingly boring, even if the only person you’re describing them to is yourself. The edges of that void are getting clearer with each sleep. But trying to picture it—the look of the place, the way it makes me feel—is like trying to catch light in my hands.

Writing has never exactly been my strength. Neither has talking, if I’m honest. I’m at my best in the kitchen, moving silently through my routine, or having orders barked at me by Chef and frantically prepping the mise en place. Restaurant communication is the kind of talking I can get behind—efficient, straightforward, with no expectations around “politeness” or “socializing.”