My phone vibrates aggressively — staccato rhythms, a hundred beats per minute. The neighbor dogs are uncomfortably panicking over something. Barking with an intensity that pierces the granite counter tops supporting my elbows. The record spinning is skipping, stuck in sonic position yet starring center stage in this symphony of chaos. My own heartbeat gradually drums past a place of disco and more into a zone of fear. I realize in these moments of miraculous intensity that I’m not sure I am built for what demands me. And maybe that the Universe creates this music when it needs me to read between the lines. Do our dreams gradually find a way to destroy us? Or is it perhaps that dreaming altogether was only ever meant to destroy us?