My sleep schedule doesn’t make sense anymore – I’ve unmoored
it from the clock and it floats freely, sometimes scraping the shoreline. At 9
am, an idea for a girlie show flier drags me off my bed and up against my work
table. At 4 am, I find I’ve passed out with my chin on the keyboard, endless
zzzzzs stereotyped across the page. Was there time between? I go to work on one
date, come home the next. Is a beer at six in the morning the same from both
directions?
