My alarm is yelling at me so I wake up, and I’m simply thinking about how I’m not ready for the day. I’m never ready for the day. Once I stand I know that today is really going to happen so I have to do whatever I can to be productive and responsible. I’m in charge. I have to be on top. I have to think.

I shut off the alarm, still not ready, and I walk away in a limp. I’m not as young as I once was, but nobody is, so no excuses.

My body is more like a carcass; it still hasn’t risen from the dead completely. Yesterday looked just like today and sucked just as much and tomorrow will be the same.

The first thing I do is piss and then head to the fridge but I have no appetite. I never have an appetite when I wake up. My body has not made a decision yet. What do I want to eat? Not a damned thing. Maybe today will be different and I’ll want to eat something after I rinse off in the shower.

Not today. Once out of the shower, I have to get gone. There will be people at work waiting for me to open the door—people who have been awake longer than me who have eaten breakfast. People who like the morning.

Guaranteed, last night I took a nap at around seven, woke up and had no clue how to get back to sleep. Guaranteed, work was so on my mind that I had no room in my puny mind to maintain a creative motivation. It’s hot. I’m hungry. I haven’t been working out so I feel, I don’t know, old. I think about my story and how cool it’s going to be when I get done, but I either can’t focus or I’m going to fall asleep.

I set my alarm and it yells at me at 7:30 in the a.m.

So this morning I’m reading emails from the previous day, reminders I sent to myself. This is a to-do list. The last thing on the list says, “Today will suck.” It doesn’t really say that but that’s how I read it.

I drive less than ten minutes there, begin my day and it’s not so bad. Actually, I like it. I have a rule to not go to places I don’t want to be. I quit my last job and took less pay at my current job because I enjoy the roll but hate the summer hours.

I forget to each lunch and didn’t pack one, never got breakfast and dinner will suck and not be nourishing. Don’t believe me? Let’s move ahead ten hours and I’m forcing down something from my freezer. I mean, it’s good fish but I’m not craving it. I don’t crave food when I’m tired. I don’t feel creative when I’m tired. I’m not hungry while thinking about work. And all day and after work that’s what I’m doing.

By the time I’m ready to leave work, boy, I’m ready to leave work. I tell myself tomorrow will be better and one day it was. It’s sucked ever since. Not really suck sucked but not an uplifting experience.

I get home and think about doing some social networking but I don’t do it because it feels pointless. It will just make me more tired. Best to save my energy for writing. No, better yet. Get to bed earlier so I can get my shit together.

Dinner didn’t fill me up.

At about seven I crash.

At about nine I wake up. Can’t get back to sleep.

At about one I start worrying about the next day. Not real worrying. I just don’t want to do it, because friggin why? At about two I lay down, and then get back up for water, to check my email, to brush my teeth, to pet the dog. I have a great dog. And I lay there on the floor, actually tired but thinking about how to fix tomorrow. By three I’m turning on the sound of waves.

I set my alarm for 7: 45, an extra fifteen minutes but fifteen less minutes to get ready.

I think about my story, how the aliens have made Gaffey Street into an outdoor slaughterhouse. The power lines are sharp, so they can throw you against it and split you in half. One of the main characters is possessed by alien flesh, and another main character is just possessed. I’ll get back to it when I get a chance.

In my dreams I’m asleep.

Waking up.

And not writing.



By all means, check out this book In Blackness. I just don't see why you don't so go ahead. The summer is over. The sequel will be done soon.



In Blackness