I wrote this at 4 in the morning, which is why it doesn't make sense

Principles of the Fish Nightmare

1. I do not want to kill the fish, or to be inadvertently responsible for the death of the fish.
2. In fact, I am morally bound to look after the fish, even though I am terrified of it and, in fact, hate it. This is because, once a fish enters your life, you either actively care for it or kill it. There is no middle ground.
3. The fish wants--what? To be between my body and the couch? What is the fish doing? Is it actively seeking death? Is it confused, evil, suicidal? I don't understand this principle.
4. I should welcome my blankets. In the real world, which has had the dream-world bleed into it until the two are momentarily identical, the blankets should provide an extra layer of protection from wriggling, burrowing fish. And yet they also provide cover, and their exact contents are hard to control.
5. The physical memory of the wriggling of the fish persists long after intellect and description should have banished it.