Sleepy Writer

All I have in me is vegan lasagna and cornbread.

Writing tonight is absolutely unimaginably difficult. I can’t sit up in my comfy office chair. There’s no way I’m standing right now, though the tight muscle pain on my back says I should do otherwise.

Every ounce of my writing ability is used in the making of this blog post, with eyes closed and imagination in flight.

How can I ever finish this book if my mouth is open, ready to drool onto my keyboard? How much longer can I rest awake? It’s a lot like forcing yourself to go to that workout when you have almost no energy left, whether from working a long day, starting a new medication, or finishing an emotionally exhausting argument. One last thing to go before bed.

I continue to write until thoughts cascade over my dim lit mental walls. They make it over, landing onto the stone floor. Jagged rocks fall to pierce the inspiration flow, then a rush of invisible powder sprinkles from above with visions of puffy sleep. All the while, blood patters across the screen.

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