twenty-eight years and a million words
I woke myself up reaching for my bike brakes, this morning. I no longer recall the dream, but after weeks of worsening weather, worsening light, and worsening driving, it's no surprise that my dreams follow my mornings and evenings: constant emergency braking.
The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love, and in order to occupy and distract himself without love he gives way to passions and coarse pleasures, and sinks to bestiality in his vices, all from continual lying to other men and to himself.
—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov