Dad is worried about how much I love to sleep. I do love it. Not because I love the dreams. The dreams are weird. The dreams are not what’s magical.
You want the honest truth? The reason I like to sleep so much is that there’s a moment, right when I wake up—sometimes it’s long and sometimes it’s fleeting—but there’s at least a tiny moment when Sheila isn’t dead.
Of course, there’s a moment instantly after that when she becomes dead again. And that is pretty terrible. But it’s worth it for that split-second feeling. When I’m not quite awake, but no longer asleep, and Sheila’s alive again.