I woke up this morning.

Please, I’m not complaining. It is much better than most of the other options.

But I was very depressed. I sat on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands.

“You okay, honey?” Richard said to me.

“Damn it, Richard, I screwed up big time. After six week, six hours 4 minutes and 9 seconds, I fucked up and smoked a cigarette.”

Richard was quiet for a moment, but he’s no dummy. He did the math. “So you had a cigarette at midnight. Where did you have it,” he inquired?

“I went down to the banks of the Congo and watched the tugs and ferries and fishing boats go up and down the river,” I responded. “It was really pretty neat. You should have come.”

There was a pregnant pause.

I heard Richard’s voice say, “Mac, where is the Congo River?”

“Africa, of course,” I shot back, incredulous that he could ask such a silly question.

“When’s the last time you were in Africa?”

“Well, you know as well as I do that I have never been to… oh, I think I’m seeing something here… I didn’t go down and sit on the banks of the... oh, I get it, it was all a dream.”

Pretty much set the tone for the day, but Richard wasn’t with me at work. So, no one really pointed me in the firm direction of reality for the rest of the day.

Can you say discombobulated?