It is as if I am sitting next to a friend, on board a fast train, zipping along on a straight track, when our railroad car is suddenly diverted off the straight trackbed and onto a branch line that probably has not been used in half a century or more. It's awful! The track is in such terrible shape that our railroad car bolts left one second, then forward the next. It seems to lurch, nearly jumping the track, and then, POW!. Could that have been stones on the track that nearly sent us flying? *PAHAW!* And again., this time a wild wild lunge left, and I was nearly thrown from my seat. I look around for a conductor but it's just my friend and me here, and he doesn't even seem to notice how we are being tossed about as our railroad car picks up speed.
My friend asks what is wrong with me, and he looks annoyed. "You are sweating! And you are so fidgety! What is your problem?" My problem? MY problem? I ask if he has gone mad, and list some of the danger we have been facing since leaving the main track land getting onto this terribly old branch line. My friend looks at me as if I've lost it. He speaks in a lowered register, and his words sound like he is commanding me! WHAT HAVE I DONE? And now I begin to cry, and each whiney word I speak is obviously a major piss-off for my friend. Thankfully, the train slows down and - wow = pulls into a large train station.
We leave the train and walk a few steps to a cafe. My friend is livid. He demands to know why I suddenly lost control of my nerves and emotions. "Exactly as you have done every single time we travel together on this particular route!" Oh shit, he is right. How could I have possibly forgotten?
When I arrived here at the building, Frau Eberhardt from the 5th floor and I shared the lift, and she definitely heard me mutter "Pavlovian" a few times. Either she was kind enough not to ask what that was all about, or I frightened her. I hope not.
As Friday marched on and I was in nearly continuous phone contact with trusted friends on the US east coast, clues began mounting that something was really amiss, and maybe it wasn't me after all.
TO BE CONTINUED