Insomniac

 

I can’t sleep. I don’t know why not. So, I read and typed a while.  [Rana de Ojos Rojos colored pencil sketch Red-Eyed Frog] I still can’t sleep. This is what I’m going to look like tomorrow at work [arrow drawn to frog]. I yawned! That’s a good sign. Urgh. I put one line to Jim. It has started raining again in his Fiat flashback. I’ve got to get him back to his car where I have about a page ready to go. Rochelle keeps coming out to ask if I’m OK. I keep having to assure her that I’m just not sleepy. Reassure her that I’m OK. I have film to develop. Still haven’t tended to my bike. Trim to paint. Should have called Getoff. Supposed to go up to Morro Bay this weekend to hang with Tim and Sara and do some halibut fishing from a canoe. I have to transfer the Costa Rica video. What else? The tacos we made for dinner did a number on my insides. My farts’ll rouse the dead. Still have those gift certificates to spend. What else? I heard a blurb on the tube that it may rain for the morning commute. I should have a bowl of cereal for breakfast. I’ll take that pasta for lunch. I’ll sleep at recess. Won’t have to worry about writing so much tomorrow at least, since I’m getting it all done now. I’ll just have to read the papers is all I’ll have left tomorrow. When I’m done here, I’ll read some more of ol’ queer Cheever’s diary. That ought to put me to sleep. I’ll do my third person when I get home again. I’ve got to walk Jim back to the car. He gets lost.  How’ll I convey the frustration? I should give Grandma a call. We have to do a Test Ready tomorrow, or today, I should say. Journals. I’ll bring a thermos of coffee.