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Lance hopped up from the bed. In a daze. His equilibrium was shot. What was this malady that had taken over his body? He looked to the timepiece above the mantle and fireplace dancing with embers, but alas, merely 3 minutes had gone by. "Damn it. Damn it. Damn it." At this end of this, Lance spat into the fireplace. The situation seemed so abhorrent to he, the man invented the Lance Vance method of relaxation. What would his newsletter group think if he couldn't get to sleep using his own tools? He wouldn't think of it.

Slowly, he bean to feel an aura of reflection take him over. Why had he been so worried about what others might think of him? He was himself, which was all that mattered.

With that thought, he returned to bed and dozed off immediately.