The final sign that I was going bonkers was, undoubtedly, the cadre of silent floating fetusus outside my window. Twenty in all, I counted them carefully before deciding that I must be hallucinating. I mean, nineteen, surely, lad, but twenty? Definitely a sign of mental fatigue. Although if such was to be my fate I felt I could live with it, but still, I'm getting a bit old for such sudden trips of fantasy. It's difficult to retain a sense of the world around you, when you spend so much of your concentration and energy trying to tell if that world is real and happening. The only answer, natch, is that it's real enough to worry about. In any case, I gave the silent cadre a second look, walking to the window to get a better view. I shed the blankets perhaps halfway there, hearing them fall soundlessly to the floor in a limp pile of linen; that distracted me just enough, and when I looked back to the window there was nothing there. I continued to stare until the thump of the morning paper against the door brought me back to the current real world.