For the past few months I’ve been dreaming in black in white. No colors. No shades of gray. Houses, people, objects are silhouettes on a field of white. Yet each is strikingly clear and distinct. There is no blending of personas, no rooms that I know are in one place, but seem to be elsewhere, no bleeding of scenes and consequences across boundaries of logic. There is none of the vagueness that often separates dream life from reality.

This starkness extends far beyond appearances. It characterizes every aspect of my dream world. Emotions, morality, justice: all have no subtlety. If I am happy, I am thoroughly happy—not necessarily extremely happy, but nothing other than happy. People in my dreams don’t always do the right thing, but there is never any question as to what should have been done. There never is any question of anything.

I awake from these dreams groggy and disoriented. I wonder where I am, how I got there, what day it is. Everything seems unreal and indistinct. I wonder, Is that the ceiling above me? Is that the sound of a truck on the street below? Am I tired? Excited? Dejected? Hungry?

Eventually, I am able to reacquaint myself with the boundaries between objects, with their names, with their locations, with their purposes, but with each new morning, it takes longer for me to escape my hypnopompic fogginess. I manage to rise, brush my teeth, and shower by the strength of years of routine. Thankfully, the pathways in my brain that control my morning activities have been solidly established. If they weren’t, I don’t know where I’d be.

Lately, I find myself more and more frustrated by gradation. The world is all sliding scales without tick marks. It’s a violin—fretless—and I’m a guitarist. I can’t find the notes. I often close my eyes and try to picture a situation as it would be in one of my dreams. I never can. Real-world circumstances cannot exist in black and white.

And there have been consequences. Things are going badly for me. My girlfriend asked me why I had stopped telling her I loved her. I said I didn’t know anymore. In my dreams, love is absolute. How can I be sure I love her if she annoys me sometimes, if there’s ever ill-feeling? She broke up with me. I miss her, but not completely. I like having the whole bed to myself. I’m lonely, but, at the same time, I enjoy solitude.

And I got in trouble at work. I couldn’t figure out how to proceed with my assignments. It wasn’t clear what I should do first, what to prioritize. I was paralyzed. I lost my job. How can I find another one? There are so many listings, so many options.

I’m afraid to cross the street. How can I know if the cars will really stop at the light? I’m afraid to eat. How can I know that the food is not poisoned? I’m afraid to speak. How will I know that what I say won’t be inappropriate or offensive or incorrect? I’ve already lost my girlfriend and my job. What else might I lose? I’m trapped, stuck, incapacitated. I’m crippled by knowing black and white.

And I’m afraid. I don’t know what to do. Everything’s a blur. I’m never sure of anything. I can never get anything done. I’m tired and frustrated and always wish I were asleep. How have people survived for so long—how have I survived for so long—without any true delineation? I need to sleep. I need to go to sleep. I need to be able to see. Vagueness, grayness, color…color is driving me crazy.