December 8, 2009

I’m always tired. This, I think, is because when I sleep, I dream about the most mundane things – waiting in my car at an intersection for a red light to turn green; counting out pennies to make exact change in line at the grocery store, one at a time, as the checker sighs and begins exchanging tired how-are-yous with the next customer; emptying the dishwasher, which never seems to reach empty; sitting at the desk in my home office surrounded by unopened envelopes – all letters from credit card companies informing me of what I already know, I’m over my limits – and a yellow legal pad with the figure of my monthly budget circled at the top of the first sheet waiting to be rationed down to zero. My dreams have confirmed my greatest fear – that I’ve run out of thoughts. My brain has nothing to work with while I sleep but monotony.


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