Hobby

At first, it was a coping mechanism.  I was lost; I wanted a way back to the way things used to be, a way to be somewhere other than where I was.  I slept so I could dream. 

The means become the end, though.  Isn’t that always the way?  Just like any drug.  Now, I don’t sleep to dream; I sleep to sleep. 

It passes the time.

It was Hamlet, wasn’t it, who asked what dreams may come in the sleep of death?

I don’t dream anymore. 

I hope there aren’t any dreams in death.  I’m looking forward to it.