Here's the deal, psyche. I write the demons out of you, you let me sleep longer than three hours a night. Deal?
Fuck, I sure hope so. Because I am getting tired of not sleeping. BG thinks it's him keeping me awake when it really isn't. It's my brain, that part of my brain that never sleeps, never takes a moments rest, always bugging me, nagging at me that I'm not good enough, smart enough, thin enough. Yeah, that part. I hate that part, yet it's the part I draw from when I write. It's like an immense well of darkness that pools up inside my psyche; waiting until the level gets too high, then it pours out of the tips of my fingers into a word file where it sits until I am ready to use it.
Do I sound like I need sleep? Are there dragons on the subway?
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