27
I lay awake in bed, the ringing in my ears loud, the restlessness pulsing in my body. There’s no sleepiness. I am tired, coming off little sleep, the weight of the day fueling my exhaustion, but sleep’s something that washes off my body, leaving now just this: the early morning dissonance. The thoughts that flit through my mind are disordered. I think about the story for a screenplay I’m reworking, and then another screenplay that I’m meant to rework; the revision for my sci-fi novel, and the struggle to reshape it; the book I desperately want to write; and then, memories of my best friend, and my ex, both jostling…
26
I dream I’m reading. It’s not like when I’m dreaming I’m running. I know where that comes from – the accident that deprived me of the ability to run. As a kid, I could just about outrun everybody – not in terms of speed (although I was quickish), but endurance. I could run and run and run, could push through fatigue, and feel like nothing could stop me. Driving me harder, further, and sometimes faster, was my stubbornness. When I was just eighteen or nineteen, sometimes I’d break into a sprint, like anxiety was a fuel I needed to burn off before it incinerated me. In sport, I was always…