No Idea

Trepidation.
         To this day he still didn't really understand the meaning of the word. Yet he'd used it on more then one occasion. Fear? That's the way he'd used it, as synonymous with fear. Though he had his doubts that this really captured the nuanced meaning of such a interesting word as trepidation. This thought entered Jonas's mind like a stealthy invader, one of those rare thoughts which seem to have no real origin. He noticed how such things tended to happen while he was trying to get to sleep, as if they were the remnants of a randomly firing synapse before it finally shut down for the night.
         He'd been having trouble sleeping the past few nights. The will was there, after a long day at work he'd come home to find his entire body screaming for relaxation, his mind numb after eight hours of constantly watching a clock which seemed to count every second as two, and yet as tired as he was he'd find himself awake, staring at the ceiling until sheer exhaustion took over.
         This is the situation Jonas currently found himself in. Luckily exhaustion had just taken over.
         His night was filled with a strange dream which per usual he'd have no memory of come morning and so no idea of it's probable importance. In it he walked the familiar busy streets of Cleveland though each step was a struggle in itself. It was as if his feet had to convince the sidewalk to let go, and with each step the sidewalk became harder to negotiate with. By the time the factory he worked in came into view each step was like walking in six inches of molasses. He finally managed to grasp the cold steel handle of the front door before...
         Jonas opened his eyes. He did this with the slow deliberate movement of a man unsure of where he is. He always woke up like this, in fact he did just about everything like this, never hurried and always with the slow calm of someone who knows the day is coming whether he wants it to or not. His feet swung over the side of his king size bed, his feet not quite touching the ground as he sat up. It was, as far as beds go, quite nice. He had sprung for one of those adjustable mattresses with the patented “sleep number” after finding himself still awake at two AM one morning.
         He still couldn't sleep.
         He was still paying for the mattress.
         He casually made his way towards the bathroom, took care of his morning business and looked into the mirror. His dark close cropped hair was in stark contrast to his ever growing facial hair. He was reminded of a television series his older brother would watch, and which he himself had faint memories of. Grizzly Adams? Yeah, that was it. He smiled at the idea of looking like the famed mountain man. He considered shaving. It's not that he was particularly vain, but he understood the importance of conforming to perceived norms. People were easier to deal with, and indeed less likely to have to be dealt with when they thought you were normal. He did it, only nicking himself once. It felt good to look normal.
        Slipping on a pair of dark denim jeans, Jonas could feel the cold dampness left in the material. His dryer had long ago stopped heating and he had all but given up on the idea of wearing warm dry clothes. He threw on a surprisingly ratty shirt, slightly more dry, and filled with slightly more holes then the jeans. Jonas would relunctantly admit to liking one thing about his job, the complete lack of profesionalism he was expected to show. He dreaded the idea of working at any job in which a costume was required, including the double breasted kind. It was nice to have a job where he could at least look like himself.