Nobody reads this

I thought I should check in and let you know that I am alright.

The past few months have been surreal to say the least. It's like being in a waking dream in which I have to constantly remind myself of who I am supposed to be and why I am here. While my actual dreams only further confuse reality with fragments of nostalgia, amnesia, and invented memories all seemingly more authentic than my daily routine.

One day I am a young musician working at a coffee shop, full of piss and vinegar, both pathetic and invincible. I find comfort in a kind stranger with a familiar face whose name I cannot place. She makes me feel at ease. We share a coffee, a long conversation, an afternoon awkwardly tender for two strangers. When she gets up to leave, it hits me with the weight of five years. I'm leveled by images of wondering through the shops in the French Quarter of a pre-Katrina New Orleans, laying in a hammock in a beautiful flower filled yard on a warm Spring afternoon, a wedding by a lake, playing catch with a handsome young boy who I thought would be my son. It's her, and I'm angry. I don't know why she's transforming before my eyes into someone I recognize.

I wake up to a strange, warm apartment sparsely decorated with remnants of my life before. I don't recognize this man putting on a suit. One day blurs into the next only punctuated by my misleading dreams.