And I'm haunted by the freakish size of Nancy Reagan's head
And last night I dreamed I was forced to take a drug designed to destroy my higher brain function. It changed my ability to concentrate. It removed my ability to see patterns. It forced me to read one word at a time. And there now, people said, don't you feel better? Isn't that much easier? I saw someone else who had received the same treatment, a mathematician who had been a split-second calculator, shrugging and saying with a glazed grin, The numbers just weren't that important. People patted me on the back and told me how much nicer I was now. I was encouraged to make myself useful. That wasn't a good dream.

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No; that sounds frickin' terrifying.
Shit. I am sorry life is so full of bobcat for you right now.
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I would have thrown it across the room, but it's a library copy.
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You are PERFECTLY NICE ALREADY.
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*hugs*
Nine
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... God, how terrifying!
*huggles you*
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Yes. Harrison Bergeron, eat your heart out.
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I wish I had a more eloquent reaction to that dream, if only to prove to myself in this moment that it hasn't happened. This has given me cognitive hypochondria. I need to go do some math.
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*chases the dream down to the river to drown it*
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When I first moved to Boston, I had brain damage dreams where (among other things) I suddenly lost the ability to read. Not good. Not good at all.
I am sorry you dreamed this.
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