It’s 4:30 am, and I wake up from a nightmare in a cold sweat, covered in a pile of Cheez-It crumbs. I scramble for my phone, my hands shaking as I wipe the tears from my bloodshot eyes. My roommate shakes her head and rolls back to the other side of the bed. “God, not again. Go to bed. He’s not real.” I do not answer. I am rendered speechless by the image of my tormentor, the man who haunts my nightmares: Josh Radnor.
