Was insanity really easier to accept than unconsciousness?

Weren't we all crazy in our sleep? What was sleep, after all, but the process by which we dumped our insanity into a dark subconscious pit and came out on the other side ready to eat cereal instead of our neighbor's children?

I often find myself in situations where it seems to me like everyone else has read the instruction book

I don't do my job to catch the bad guys. Why would I want to do that? No, I do my job to make order out of chaos.

It's terrible to have to depend on someone else.

And then more quiet, silence so deep it almost drowned out the roar of the night music that pounded away in my secret self.

It was clear to me that it wouldn't matter what I did - they would never truly appreciate me or learn what I had to offer. They were far beyond fickle - they were insensible, like kittens,predatory little things, distracted by the first bit of string or shiny bauble that rolled across the floor, and nothing I could ever say or do could possibly make any kind of dent in their willful ignorance.