I stopped writing, but nothing else stopped. The days kept getting longer, then shorter, then longer again. The bombs fell, then stopped, then fell again.
For years, there wasn’t enough money to pay the bills on time. Nor were there enough hours in the day to finish my work and get a good night’s sleep. Now the bills are paid, but I’m still a pauper in the land of dreams. Enough already! I need to respect my body’s need for the kind of rest and illumination only dreams can bring. I need to honor the dark, the hidden, everything I can’t bend to my will.
