I was in a large empty room talking to a psychiatrist who eventually turned into Chelsea Grammar. He was reading my own self-analysis that I had written and then started talking about baseball which he seemed to think had some indirect relevance to something I had written; he started re-enacting exciting baseball moments and games he had been to and even got baseball players to come into the room to talk to me. He was very passionate about it. I wasn't listening because I had no interest in baseball and sensed that he had completely gotten off point he was trying to make and wasn't helping me, but just expressing his obsession with baseball. I looked out the window and the clouds scared me. They were in the shapes of things; not the "suggestions" of shapes that clouds usually were, but perfect imitations of those things with perfect details and proportions; and not just one or two clouds, but all the clouds. I found the clouds exciting but also terrifying. I considered mentioning this to Chelsea Grammar but wasn't sure if he would see them, too, or if it meant I was insane. I think I eventually did but he didn't see anything wrong, but I didn't know if it was because I was the only one who could see the shapes (because I was insane) or if he thought that clouds were supposed to look that way.
Then that room ended and I was running away from the clouds. I started outside on a stadium where I could see the clouds that were in the shapes of things, and I ran down these stairs and kept running further and further down, I wanted to go as underground as possible with no windows at all so I wouldn't have to look at the terrifying clouds. As I was running down, I was passing people who were going up and I kept trying to warn them, to convince them to go down, to keep away from the horrible clouds, but they wouldn't listen to me, they didn't see anything wrong with the clouds.
baseball
