Attempting to stay awake all night doesn’t work either. I black out from forces beyond my control at around five a.m. And it’s a terrifying and sudden blackness. Not a fun experience, one I do not wish to repeat, so that one becomes a hard pass after the first attempt.

Leaving the city is impossible. When I go to the airport in the morning, the planes are grounded because of fog and low visibility on the runway, and there are no rental cars available. June gloom. Dammit, Karl.

I also go to a few different doctors. A neurologist first. They run tests—CT scans, blood work, an MRI—to rule out brain-tumor-induced hallucinations and any other physical cause. Everything comes back clean. As far as I know anyway, maybe they’re part of the hallucination too. Who knows? Also, a majority of the tests don’t have results for a few days. Ha. Yeah, “We’ll call you tomorrow” always gets a good laugh.

I try a psychiatrist, but I’ve done therapy before for my anxiety and they want to schedule future sessions and prescribe medication.

So I’m stuck. Even if it’s all a dream, it’s one I can’t get out of.

And the only way out is through. So time to choke on some bees.

“The scene is a crowded dance club. The camera fixes on a group of friends showing up together and having a great time dancing, but they get split up in the crowd. Both groups end up leaving. They need food after a long night, right? And then one group gets a notification that their other friends are at a restaurant nearby, and they find each other and eat together. The tagline can be: Splice up your life.”

Stacey winces. “Well . . .”

“A splice of heaven?”

“No.” Drew shakes his head.

“A family over the holidays, getting together, sharing the love, any way you splice it!”

The room is silent. Three sets of eyes staring at me.

Stacey smiles, but it turns into a wince. “Um. What exactly are we splicing?”

“The greatest thing since spliced bread.”

Blade sighs, his pen tapping on his notepad. “Jane, the demographic that would recognize that cliché is not using mobile apps.”

“Grab a splice of the action!”

Drew frowns. “I’m not sure dinner could be considered action.”

“And I don’t think the client wants to spend ad money on explosions.” Blade raises his brows at me.

“CGI may be too expensive, I’m afraid,” Stacey adds.

“Splice it right up your pie hole!”

Stacey frowns at me. “Wait. Um. What?”

“Never mind. I’ll see myself out.”