For the nth time, it’s been a sleepless, fitful night. I go to bed anxious, and I wake up panicking. My legs feel like lead but my brain is screaming at itself to please please let me not hear anything but it’s also pushing me forward and sometimes I cannot feel the tips of my fingers that try to type type type and work to get words out on a page so that a coherent story forms. I drink coffee to keep my gears oiled and if something has to go out for another to enter, I’m not even sure if the lethargy gets to flow out or if it seeps straight into my bones so much that I’m sopping wet with it. I sit out in the balcony to dry myself out and evaporate but I never know when enough is enough and instead of being drier and crisper and sharper, everything inside and out ends up melting into the chairs and eventually someone has to scrape my remains off so someone else can sit down.