The vibration of the cell phone awakens me. I reach for it, holding the bright screen to my squinting face, and setting it for thirty minutes later. I hate mornings.
     Not knowing how many minutes later, I open my eyes to see the grey out my window. The field is murky with it,  grass sticking up out of a swamp of fog. The trees are not trees but only pine. The oak and poplars have withered down to stalks, leaving the shaggy pine looking like remnants of a holocaust. The only ones clothed in a sea of naked and shaved. But in this fog, the trees never end, they float upwards; for all we know, limitless as bean stalks. My eyes shut.
     The cell phone again. I whine and groan. I am certainly not in the mood to get up, but I need to get to work. I drowsily walk to the bathroom and have a quick shower. Looking at the time, it was ten o’clock and I needed to get to work in thirty minutes. I dash out of the house, coffee in my left hand and my keys in the other. I sat for a few minutes gazing outside the car window. Soon minutes turned to hours. The main highway to work was packed with traffic and the nearest exit was about half a mile back, separated from me by a gleaming chain of cars.
     Two hours pass, I finally get to work. I do not worry about being late since I work in an insane asylum. The manager for sure won’t fire me because he needed all the help he could get. I am not proud of where I work, but with my record, that is the best I could do. When I was a teenager, I got in trouble with the law. What was meant to be a joke turned out to be perilous. My friends and I decided to go loot a gas station. Bystanders nearby were petrified and decided to call the police. In a split second, I could hear police sirens all over, I was scared to my wits. One of my friends was armed and we didn’t know about it. The police didn’t hesitate arresting us; we had a court hearing and got sentenced to fifteen years in prison.
     After prison, I decided to pull myself together. I applied to many jobs, but no one would hire me because of my criminal record. I then got hired at the Colville State Asylum for the incurable insane. It is a simple job; I mop floors and clean after the invalids.
     Most patients are mentally unstable and aggressive. Their moods change in a nanosecond, going from manic to being miserable. When the patients are happy, they are all over the place. Some dancing  and others being creative with their art supplies. But what really entertains me is how some patients try to outsing each other with their croaky voices. For a minute I forget all the dilemmas currently affecting my life and just live in the moment. I hate to admit it, but the institution feels like a second home to me. Indeed, it is a world of contrast.
    On my lunch breaks, I develop an interest of talking to the invalids. I gather a lot of information from the interaction. Apparently, about eighty percent of them are in here due to substance abuse after prolonged use. Some have been in and out of rehab, but their relapses send them crawling to the mental institution. The rest of the patients are psychotic just having to deal with trauma and psychological issues since birth; a lot of them come from the poor houses, or families that can not bear the burden anymore.
     Today fifty patients arrive by bus. Drooling, snarling, some of them crying. I overhear Doctor Johnson telling some of the orderlies that they expect to increase that number  in the coming year. It is hard to believe there are that many cases of insanity in the world, let alone the State. The advantage of being a janitor is that no one notices when you are around, listening. It is as though the mop and broom make me invisible. I hear nurses gossip about a woman that arrived today. “How does one bring herself to murder a child? A toddler, no less? There is something deeply wrong with her.”
     Lunch time is here. As usual, all patients are gathered in the cafeteria and the orderlies are helping them with their food. An unexpected turn of events happens. A few orderlies crack open the skull of a patient who wouldn’t stop barking at his meal. I drew an audible shuddery breath. “This is truly an insane asylum. The caregivers seem to have equally lost their mind,” these thoughts were racing through my mind.
     “Get up Stephanie; you need to get ready for school!” yelled my mother. I suddenly woke up. I sat on my bed, speechless and bewildered, and realized everything was just a dream.