Drift.

Dreams of searing hot, white noise. The static of the ineffable pounds me in a torrent of spectra. Images so fast I can only grab a few... doors flap open and closed like bird wings, windows go from open to closed without passing the intervening space. Somewhere a siren starts below the cusp of hearing and gradually rises to a shriek that resonates with every nerve. Tossed on this sea of information, mights and maybes flit past like kingfishers, flashing into the torrent, flashing back changed, Technicolor scraps of what if searing afterimages across my vision.

The spinning starts slowly, and all the doors fly open at once. I spiral, barely able to control my direction as I search for the place I left. Counter to me the tears, the birds, the breaks of color whirl widdershins and the wall of sound approaches inexorable, a time-lapse glacier. I aim for where I came from.

I dissolve into consciousness. First my breathing, then heartbeat. My consciousness floods arms and legs, inflating them like a balloon. My skin lights up with the sensation of sheets. My eyes fill and my ears open. Fingers flex, toes stretch, legs reach to the bed corners, and my fingers brush the wall grounding me. I treat this as normal because I must.