There you are, after your fifth black coffee, feeling high & well, seriously on edge, exactly how you like it, looking at another cup standing on the coffee table in your room.
You're unsure what you're thinking about when you snap out of it and realize you don't own a coffee table. You like to live that way, lean, nothing that isn't strictly necessary.
Afraid that this is it -- you're finally losing your mind, you look outside the window and notice another room, which is mostly empty, with only a lamp, a carpet, and, of course, another window.
Nice, minimal, exactly how you like it, which calms you down enough to look back. When you do, you notice a door, which you decide to inch towards to try and reach the tableless room, but the door doesn't feel like opening right now.
So with nothing else to do, you continue losing your mind, going in loops in your mind, again and again about how you're losing it, until finally:
You stand up from the couch in a tableless room, exclaiming: 'And that's why I stopped drinking coffee,' which you did after just starting again four weeks ago.
It seems like the whole thing was just in your mind; perhaps it was a daydream, whatever that means. For some reason, you're scared that if you had continued drinking too much coffee, you'd lose your mind, which is ridiculous, primarily because -- I think you already have.
