I somehow find myself employed at an important up-and-coming computer company in an anonymous city. I have no idea what it is our company does, and the only work I have done thus far is to help one of the co-owners split and move some wood—a rare, unique, quasi-magical wood found only in the Swiss Alps. (Is that where I am?) The other owner tells me that he has brain cancer and that he is leaving the company in the hands of myself and the other present owner who is helping me place wood onto a conveyor belt.

I wake up to find myself in bed with a great deal of nervous energy. I try to scream but can’t. I try to move my arms but can’t.

The owners are now trying to teach me a Bach piece as played by Glenn Gould. I wonder what the point of it is. Don’t they realize that this will take a great deal of time seeing as I don’t play the piano? Don’t they realize that this has no bearing on the workings of the company?

I awake again and am now able to scream and move my arms about. Sleeping next to me, my wife does not seem to notice. I continue screaming and grab hold of her hand, waving her arm about with mine. Even as I do so, I wonder why. Am I nervous about an intruder? Am I nervous about taking over such a large company that I am completely unfamiliar and inexperienced with? Am I excited about performing the Bach piece just as Gould once did? I spring up from the bed so as not to bother or alarm my wife. I run down the hall screaming and playing the Bach piece in the air in front of me, hear it gloriously ringing out! I fling myself into a chair and begin screaming anew. I am growing concerned that there is something very wrong with me. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be autistic, to have such a great deal of energy and not know what to do with it or to be incapable of releasing it in another manner.

I awake again. My wife is next to me again. I can hear myself screaming. I can see the city. I can feel the Bach by way of Gould. I wonder about wood from the Swiss Alps. I mock my own wonder at the possibility that my own screaming has awoken me for some good reason or due to some nefarious cause. But now there is only insomnia.