Insomnia

The good things about being awake every morning between three and four is that, on week days, I won't be late for work.
I can sit on the step outside and watch the sun rise.

I have dreams about her, of course.

We're walking down a hill, in a neighbourhood I don't know. She is holding a magazine, ticking boxes in a quiz about 'your ideal partner'. It seems very engrossing; I tag along. She shows me the results with a glance of contempt and starts running to catch a bus; I have the choice to run too and catch up or be left behind, catch the next bus, find my own way home. I run too, while rummaging in my jeans pocket for the necessary one dollar twenty five cents. The end.


I wonder if explosive diarrhea is an improvement on uncontrollable fits of crying.