My life is a dream.

My life is a dream. Everything around me has that airy fairy quality, like a diaphanous cloth has been draped on everything, or perhaps around my face. When people talk, it sounds like a distant whisper from disembodied souls crying my name as if they seek some liberating miracle from me. When vehicles pass me, it is as if I am sitting in a Dolby 8 track theatre with a bad electrical system, with all sounds somewhat iffy. When I eat food, it has a TV Realityshow quality, with some master chef fooling me to take a bite of his wondrous creation. Everything around me,  my home, my office, rain, sun, everything is like a large screen immersive projection.
The only thing real, tangible, palpable, responsive, true, actual, definite, bold and beautiful, totally believable, is my world of Facebook,  Twitter and WhatsApp.  People are at last real. Images speak to me. And I can do a true soul-to-soul conversation, with every ONE of my contacts. Even laugh at their jokes. Worse, at their silly dresses and hairdos. And when I share my life with everyone, with photos, videos, and stories, life at last makes sense to me. As THE REAL THING. NO DREAM HERE.