A day in the life of John Truman...

My mental grip slipped as I once again lost the struggle to resist the latest onset of the recurring vision:

Four men, one whom I thought I should know but couldn't remember, gathered around a small table in a dark corner of a small room. Their voices soft, almost hypnotic, spoke Latin with English or possibly Scottish accents. They discussed economic systems, political structures, social causes, theological constructs, and people groups as if they were simply pawns on a chess board. 

At some point in the complex, and occasionally inaudible, conversation the words Necessitas non habet legem would rise above the others, triggering a morbid and sickening reaction in me - I wanted to throw up. I would try to look away, but the more I resisted, the stronger those words held me in their grasp and the further into the room they drew me. 

Finally, they would look up at me, vacant, zombie-like expressions in their eyes, point to the empty chair, and say, 'Welcome.'"

The vision ended and, as usual, my transition to unpleasant physical manifestations began. First the cold sweats followed almost immediately by piercing pain that seemed to dance around in my skull - base of my cranium, behind my eyes, top of my head, nasal cavity, inside my ears, and then start all over again. Like every other time, the experience culminated in a single drop of dark red blood falling from my nose. 

Man, this really sucks.