If there was one thing he was thankful for, it was the winter break. With Boston University being on break until January 19th, and him not needing to be back at work until January 18th, he was fully taking advantage of the fact that he had time off. Of course, he should have been preparing for the spring semester, but really he was teaching the same classes he had taught for years and he could teach them in his sleep. Every year was the same. Every class was the same. Everything was the same. The true definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again with nothing changing, and Joe for every sake of the word could say that he was going insane.

If he wasn't there already, that was. Because apparently, the dreams he had been having were more memories than anything else. Memories of another life, of being someone else, of murder and mayhem and maniacal laughing that haunted him while he was dreaming and while he was awake. Because apparently this is what he was stuck with. If the notes were any indication, if the comics, and the movies, and the various threats to his well-being that he still found around his house were any indication, he was stuck with a homicidal clown. Who thought everything was a fucking joke, and yet took things so seriously. It was a weird line to walk down, and he was horribly unable to balance everything.

It didn't matter how many times he was told that everything would be okay and that people understood what was going on and he'd have a support system. At the end of the day, he had apparently been there when a woman died. He had apparently done some horrible things. And he couldn't fucking remember all of it and maybe he didn't want to remember, but maybe it would have also helped. With the spaces in memory, he wasn't sure what to do with it. He hated puzzles that he couldn't solve. He hated puzzles with missing pieces, and that was exactly what he was: a sick, twisted puzzle, missing too many pieces and feeling like he was losing more day by day.

So he did what he thought could help: he drank a lot, because it numbed his brain and his memories of him coming out and making him freak out. And he didn't leave the apartment much, tried to sleep as much as he could, but it was hard to sleep when the memories were infiltrating the dreams he was having. Those dreams were turning quickly into nightmares and he wasn't sure how to approach it.

It got to the point where he didn't really know what day it was or what time it was, and he was wandering around his apartment with the window blinds drawn shut because it was better to try to deal with this crazy shit on his own before heading off to New Hampshire for the weekend for a much needed getaway. Murder mystery, a castle, and as much alcohol as he could handle. Pretending to be someone else other than himself was going to be helpful. Or so, he hoped.

It was then that he realized that he needed to try to find something to wear, and so, he went to his closet where all his suits were hanging up. Because, being ‘Prince Charming' needed to look the part, right? Since that week almost a month ago, Joe hadn't had the need to go to his closet. That was where all the suits were, even the suit he had for New Years Eve was one he had only just bought that day and put it on; there had been nothing that he needed to hang up, nothing that he needed in that particular closet.

Which, was why it was a shock when he opened the closet door. When he was greeted to a loud ‘pop' sound and confetti once again flying everywhere, and a note flew down from the ceiling. Joe ripped it off the rope it was hanging on, reading the words If we are going to be stuck together, you need to start dressing better. Took the liberty to get some things, believe me when I say the were quite the STEAL! Following that was a series of "HAHAHA" written after it.

Because yeah, Joe really needed to know the guy was laughing when he was writing all of this. Everything was a fucking joke.

As he flicked on the light of the closet, he groaned loudly and in frustration, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Every single one of his suits had been replaced. By purple suits of varying styles and shades. Every single tie had been replaced with various green ties and bowties, with different shades and styles as well. And sitting on the top shelf, was a small box, that when Joe opened it, saw lapel flowers. He looked down to see his shoes were still his old shoes, so that was at least a good thing. Still, he closed the closet door and shook his head. "Really? Couldn't fucking at least keep the actual one black suit I owned? Had to make everything fucking purple? For fucks sake," Joe muttered, completely to himself, knowing he was sounding crazy, knowing he looked like a moron.

Now he had to know this guy was crazy, because who replaced all his good suits with purple ones? Still holding the note in his hand, he finally noticed there was an arrow at the bottom, and he turned the paper over. It read: Trying to compromise with you, kid. See? Not so bad. I'd take the tags off the suits before wearing them though. Get a magnet.

"Get a magnet?" He asked, curiously, as he went back to the closet, opening the double doors once more, and started to actually look at the suits. Finally, he saw one of the suits had a store theft tag on it. In fact, all of them did. "Yeah. What a steal," He muttered, as he shut the doors once more and crumpled up the note and tossed it to the nearest trashcan by the bed. "Fucking jackass."

So that proved it, he was insane. He was going insane, he was somehow turning into some homicidal clown comic character, and there was nothing he could do about it.

His wardrobe wasn't going to help when it came to the weekend, so he'd have to improvise. Joe moved through the bedroom, went online, and started to pick out a costume he could wear.

Without thinking, he bought one purple one, and one green one, as well as one other color, not realizing it. It was after he finalized it, that he realized, and groaned once more, and sighed heavily as he let his head slam into the desk.

"I'm going crazy. I'm going crazy." He muttered repeating to himself a few times, and swallowed hard.

And he was talking to himself, alone in his apartment, without even his thoughts to talk back.

Yeah, he was going crazy. Didn't really matter if he was admitting to it or not. He wasn't sure what really mattered anymore. And that was the scariest part.