Cybercabra

I feel like I’ve fallen flat onto the surface of an endless, viscous abyss of my own creation, ever sinking, slow as the speed my be. I look to my left, as far as the proverbial tar will allow me to turn my head, and I see naught but eternal darkness. With some work, I am able to turn my head to look to the right, and I am met with the same endless expanse of nothing. That which I am suspended in is cold, like a room with a neglected open window in the dead of winter. I used to look through that window, but the scene never changed enough to inspire or excite me; perhaps I should have devoted more effort to observing the world on the other side of the window, or maybe I should have devoted less effort. I look upward — or maybe I should say, “forward”, as I lie parallel with the surface of the cold, fluid darkness, and I see more darkness. Where did I fall from? Did I even fall, or was I pushed? Unlikely; I most likely jumped, but from whence? Am I here, or am I dreaming? While the latter is certainly more likely than the former, it is also quite cliché and, I must say, a mite cheesy. Oh dear, the tone and voice of this description of emotions is taking quite a turn for the… I’m not sure. I don’t think I used any words similar to “cheesy” in the preceding sentences — I would say “paragraphs”, but I’m presently far too lazy to take the time to split this stream into any smaller bits.