April 1, ~12:00 AM, outside a small venue after a show:
“Did you work at F.Y.E. in (town name)?”
“huh.” Pause. “Really?… Well, have you been to (town name)?”
“Actually, no, never been.”
“That’s weird,” he says. “I could have sworn you worked there. You must have a double. There was a woman who worked there… and you look just like her, a lot like her.”
“Yeah, I’ve been told many times that I have doubles.”
April 1, ~4pm, in my bedroom, waking up from a nap:
The dream I had disturbed me greatly. It was set in a warm, dry, very dusty town that was under construction in a lot of places. We lived in an apartment building that looked more like a hotel. It was shiny, possibly made from mirrors.
The pieces of the dream are distorted or disjointed.
At one point I was driving. 2 people close to my fiance were sitting in the backseat. They knew the area far better than I did. I was unsure of where I was going, but my fiance’s sister kept assuring me that I was on the correct roads. I felt like I was traveling in loops though. I trusted her and continued driving. Sometimes we were in her van; sometimes we were in my car; the details switched rapidly. I felt drugged, like the world was unreal and moving far slower in my mind than it was actually moving.
“Home” didn’t feel like home. I realized that it was imperative that I pay attention to whether or not I was with the doubles of my fiance and his sister and friend or the “originals.” My consciousness felt unstable; I kept shifting. I didn’t know who I was. Was I an original or a double?
At times, I would be hit by a mental “bug” that sent me into seizures, shock or a catatonic state. I saw and felt the world around me as if through cushions or tin cans. I was unable to respond as the elderly gathered around and stared at me. Many times people would call the hospital. When I was asked my name, I responded “Sarah Plumbstone.” (I knew how it was spelled since I saw the nurse onthe other end of the telephone line type it into the computer. “We have you on file,” she said. Meanwhile, my Self screamed in my brain “I’m not Sarah Plumbstone!” Who is that? Why do I think and say I am her? That is not me. That is not my name.
“Ah, yes, Sarah Plumbstone… at 40-2000 (some street name that eludes me). Your father was the military man from Virginia….”
None of this is true; none of this is me or my life.
I am hospitalized under the name “Sarah Plumbstone” dispite knowing I am not her.
April 1, ~5:30pm, at the local gym, by the water fountain:
“Say, you stay in (name of different town)?”
“Do I stay there.. as in, have I lived there?” I ask.
“No, I haven’t lived there. I occasionally hang out there, but very infrequently.”
“And you never lived there?”
“Been to the gym over there?”
“Never, actually. I only come to this location.”
“Oh, wow. You have a twin then. I see a girl over there that looks just like you. You sure never go to that gym?”
“Dude… you’re freakin’ me out.”