My life use to resemble a chainsaw with a broken cut-off switch. I constantly buzzed with the loud rattling thud of a truck missing a muffler. Jumping from one thought to another in milliseconds was commonplace. In addition, the foreign jargon I called speech, in reality was the soundtrack of a psychopathological lunatic. Sadly, the Dragon was a spirit without love, a nomadic appliance, a self-destructive, all-consuming bowl of mindlessness, ‘chasing the wind.’