Pencils, Dust, and Imperfection

I couldn't sleep.

I was downstairs in the living room, wide awake. I should've been asleep since I had to go to the studio in the morning, but should've doesn't mean could've. I just couldn't stop thinking about everything. I wished for an off switch for my brain, but didn't receive one.

I was thinking about why I couldn't remember the three hours of my day today, but I still didn't know why. I had no explanation for why dried blood was on my fingers or why Adrienne was upset with me.

She didn't come home until half and hour after I woke up on the patio, and she was upset for some reason; she wouldn't even look at me. I tried asking her what happened, or what I did, but that just made it worse.

She called me a jerk, and that was it.

Adrienne and I have an amazing marriage, but that doesn't mean we don't fight sometimes. We usually fight when I'm out making an album or on tour because I'm not home and that stresses both of us out. This time, thought, I don't know where my wife's rage is coming from. Instead of anticipating either a loud or silent order from Adie, I decided to do the honors myself and kick myself out of our bedroom for the night.

While trying to sleep, the consuming thoughts of unanswerable questions eroded my mind. The hint of dust on the coffee table drove me insane too. I do not only have an unexplainable fear of pencils, but of dust too. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can't help it. It's recent, too - I never had a phobia of those things before.

Since I couldn't sleep, I decided to go cleanse - phobia - crazy and I Pledge'd the table. After all the dust was gone, I tried to go back to sleep, but the strong lemon scent held me back. I eventually gave up. I decided to stay awake and deal with my bloodshot eyes in the morning.

You shouldn't just give up like that.
Quitters make bad role models.

I could feel my heart plummet into my intestines. The voice was back. That stupid female voice that almost caused me to wreck my car was back inside of my head. My mind raced, but I forced it to slow down while I tried to think. Maybe if I don't think or respond to the voice, it'll go away. Maybe the cause that effected this is all inside of my head or...something.

Bad idea to think about not thinking.
Because I can still hear you.

I'm ignoring you.

You're doing a fantastic job.
Hopefully you can sense my sarcasm.

I'm trying to ignore you.

Why?

What do you mean why? You're an auditory hallucination. Normal, healthy and sane people do not have auditory hallucinations.

Then ignoring me won't do you any good, sweetie.
It might make you feel better, but not your poor brain

Then tell me why you're here! Maybe if I know the reason, I'll understand the meaning and be able to get my sanity back.

I'm here to protect you.

But why!? Why do i suddenly need protected by my brain? Something must be wrong!

I'm suddenly here to protect you, because he suddenly came.
I can't let him break you down, Billie Joe.

Who and why?

You know who.
And because he'll corrupt you.

No, I don't know who! Stop with the fucking riddles! Just tell me what's going on!

If you don't know, then neither do I.
I'm sorry, but you're reasonless and meaningless.

You know things that I don't know! you spelled out your name - Gloria. I didn't know that.

But your subconscious did.

What the hell does that mean?

You saw my name before, and it fell into the back of your mind. It resurrected when you asked who I was.

But why? Where did I see the name Gloria?

You saw 'glory'.
And it was on a bumper sticker on another car.

...Then who is he? This 'he' you keep mentioning? I'm not aware of him, but you apparently are.

Your subconscious is.

Well, you're my subconscious!

Not entirely.
I'm just a part of it.

So, you can't tell me anything completely relevant about him? Name, or what caused him? Why you and him are pieces of my subconscious to begin with?

I can tell your that he's trying to destroy you.
He already made a gutsy attempt.

What do you mean?

What he did to Adrienne.
The reason you're on the couch tonight.

...What did he do?

He hit her.
She was just trying to help you.

Help me with what?

He was playing guitar and his fingers bled.
She was just worried about you.

I just swallowed hard as I tried to digest it all. Everything was starting to make sense in a dysfunctional way, and I realized the unanswerable questions could be answered by Gloria.