A writer wakes alone in his hotel room, having left his wife and children at home.
‘When the alarm on my cellphone woke me the next morning, I had a faint memory of having panicked during the night, that I had gotten up abruptly from the bed, unable to remember where the children were. Where are the children, where are the children, I had thought, looking for them in the bathroom, out on the balcony, down on the floor by the bed. But no children. Where were the children? I finally realized that I had been walking in my sleep, but I still couldn’t understand where I was or where the children were. Had I lost them? Then I remembered everything, and it was as if I had suddenly become one with myself and with the room I was in. Everything made sense and, relieved, I had lain down to sleep again.’
Karl Ove Knausgaard The Terrible Beauty of Brain Surgery , The New York Times, Dec 30/2015 (from here)