I was given a drug that disrupted my memory of my former life.  Holden was taken from me and assigned to a surrogate mother.  I had no explicit recollection of Holden, but when I saw him with the surrogate, I found him to be vaguely familiar, and I couldn’t understand why I felt so bothered that he didn’t seem to recognize me.  My curfew (along with others who also belonged to the lower echelon class) was implemented on a random schedule.  Lights would be illuminated, and all lower echelon folks would have to go into hiding.  We couldn’t own any property—we were nomadic, and had to depend on finding a hiding place that would protect us from the authorities just long enough until the curfew was lifted.  It was possible to advance to the higher echelon class, but the requirements for such advancement were never articulated to anyone.  You had to guess which actions  would allow you to successfully advance yourself.  I never knew anyone to be successful, despite the fact that we all tried very hard to escape from the lower echelon.  At some point, I saw Holden again, and began to recover some of my former memories of him.  I was infinitely sad that he didn’t remember who I was.

I woke up from this nightmare, realizing the seriousness of my work situation, and the extent to which it is affecting me.  It is another impetus for change.