He remembered his high school friend making fun of him for being in that play. He had said George was gay for doing it. This was back when people would always say something was gay or queer as an insult. It was only few years later that this friend had shared how jealous he was that George had the balls to be in that play.

He was glad he did that play. He wished he'd done more even though it was a lot of work. Kind of like how he felt about his previous life. It was a lot of work being a husband and a dad and an employee. Now he had no responsibilities sitting in this room. And he felt a lot worse.

Sometimes he would yell out into the ceiling, "Okay. I admit it. I was wrong. I don't want just freedom and free time. Send me back now."

He'd be met with no reply. Eventually he would yell out into the ceiling like this in longer sentences. Longer phrases. Weeks later he'd be having full conversations with himself like this. He knew he was going crazy but he couldn't stop it. The only thing that made him feel somewhat sane were the people arriving in the parking lot outside.