I expected to go Batman or poetic on this one and when I couldn’t write anything quickly, I pretty much hit the brakes on Writober. It’s November 7th now and I’m writing this while at a conference. I’m wearing a black t shirt, got the black sneakers with the white bottoms on. Jeans. I wanted to wear black shorts, though. I’m in between sessions though I bet money this will be written in several places and times. I’m currently doing this on the phone and it sucks because it’s a bitch to edit. Or I’m doing the laptop at the hotel, which sucks less, but my forearms hurt because of the way the desk and chair are setup. I didn’t make it through Writober the way I wanted to. Dreamed of? It makes me think of how most nights, I can’t make it to the morning without waking up at least once choking for air. Last night I got up and got a glass of water. I don’t know if I should be drinking Orlando water from the tap. And then I went back to bed and it helped some. Reminded me how Manny used to say he always had to get up once a night, even on sleeping pills. He’d get up, drink water, and then go back to sleep and he made peace with it. I’ve caught his and Michael’s nosleep disease over the past few months. This thing happens to me when the lights go dark and work creeps in. I tell myself to shut up and stop thinking about work. I try to think about fucking, going for walks, I design spaceships in my head, start poems, design superheroes, think about my son, my girlfriend, ways to change my behavior, random things like how Fiji water is bullshit, but it came with the hotel pizza, and I breathe in and out each breath a 1 or a 0, and then the thoughts unmath themselves, turn into a puddle that goes everywhere and eventually returns to work, work, work in my brain because people have left and I feel the universe is on my shoulders and at some point, I fall asleep. Only on Friday and Saturday nights does the dark swallow me lovingly and deliver me to some form of daylight without pain and fear. 

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