I went to bed one Sunday last month and didn’t wake up until the following Tuesday afternoon. I’m not exaggerating. I’d love to tell you that it was intentional and I enjoyed it. I’d love to tell you that it was because of my hard-core, jet-settin’, rock-n-roll lifestyle. A result of a sold-out show full of adoring fans spilling out into the bar and praising my talents till dawn broke and I was forced to have my handlers wheelbarrow me home.
But you’ve all seen me, and you know this is not the case. The only way I’d ever be a rock star is if they needed someone to double as Meat Loaf in a Rocky Horror tribute band playing the dinner buffet in Piegon Forge. No, my extended coma came by way of how it usually goes for a middle-aged man: exhaustion mixed with the man flu. (Oh, by the way, there is science that suggests men actually do get sicker than women!)
Credit: Handout
Credit: Handout
I didn’t go to bed sick on that Sunday night. At least I didn’t think I did. Having a young child sort of changes your opinion on what constitutes “being sick.” I’d just gotten back from doing shows in scenic Raleigh, North Carolina, all weekend, and, yes, I was tired, but nothing two hours of Midsomer Murders followed by eight hours of mouth-breathing sleep couldn’t fix.
But everything I did for the next 38 or so hours I either did in a dream or was relayed to me by my wife, who said she’d never seen me in such a state of disarray.
When I finally came to, I was covered in sweat and shaking like my Granny’s old Dodge Diplomat when you’d try to turn the engine over after the year’s first freeze. I had absolutely no idea where I was, but more frightening still: I had no idea who I was. I’m not telling you anything new when I say that the concept of time is heavily distorted in dreams. You can sail the ocean fighting alien pirates for buried treasure during a 15-minute power nap. Imagine what all you could do if you slept for more than a full day.
Well I don’t have to imagine, because I did it. Everyone knows that no one cares to hear about people’s dreams, so I won’t bore you with all of the details. But what I need you to know is that I lived a whole life. A whole different life. I had friends. A family. A job. I took vacations, I loved people. It was all so very real. So real, in fact that when I snapped to in a dark room and rolled over in a pool of my own sweat, I became very depressed. It truly took me a minute to process the fact that none of it was real. I had to jump in the shower and let the hot water bring me back to reality. For better or worse, I was Corey again. And that’s when it hit me: “Oh no! I’ve got a wife and kid! I better go see what they are doing!”
When I got into the living room my son was standing on his head eating a sandwich and watching Sesame Street. I might have lived another life, but nothing here had changed. Thank god for that. My wife looked at me lovingly (rare, but nice!) and said, “Wow, I was wondering when you were gonna start moving! Feeling better?”
That’s when I was informed it was a whole two days later! You see, it was Jan. 19 when I fell asleep, and Jan. 21 when I finally awoke. My god, what had I missed? The National College Football Championship? I hadn’t missed a college football championship my entire life. Though, if I’m being honest, I was fine with it. Ohio State and Notre Dame are two of my least favorite teams.
But then it hit me: We had a new president now.
So I did what shouldn’t be done when you’re already depressed. I grabbed my phone and scrolled the newsfeed.
Dang.
They say there are decades where nothing happens and weeks where decades happen. But in just one day, my country got set back 50 years. Each flick of my thumb across my phone’s screen showed worse and worse news. When I went to bed, I was under the impression that, flawed as it might be, we lived in a democracy. And then I wake up to see the world’s richest man doing a sieg heil in front of the presidential seal. Possibly worse, I saw Nazi sympathizers and actual Nazis squeal in adulation because they’d seen their dream realized. The thing we were told to believe was just political mudslinging and speculation was on full unapologetic display. Now they have no reason to hide it.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, here comes Billy Ray Cyrus!
Lord, please tell me I’m still dreaming.
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