Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Borg

[truepenny]

Thus far I have woken up:

• once dreaming of vaccuum cleaners only to discover the seal on the damn mask had slipped
  
• once with the tubing wrapped around my torso like a pageant sash
  
• somewhere between "several" and "countless" times with the tubing wrapped around my neck like a squamous or possibly batrachian version of "Porphyria's Lover"

Things are getting better. I'm not yet noticing any improvement in my general level of fatigue, but I no longer feel like my little Cthulhu machine is actively sabotaging me. So that's something.