I fucking hate writing

I wake up at 10 a.m. to the sound of impatient honking and horses’ hooves on the pavement. I take a sip of water. The water tastes like blood. Or maybe my mouth is bleeding.

I roll up two earplugs, which re inflate inside my head and block out the sounds of the external world. I am in the womb again.

I wake up (for reals) at noon to the amorphous sound of dread.

Despair sits in the pit of my stomach. I drag my useless body out of bed and catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. I resemble a hooker on a bad acid trip.

I go out to buy a toasted bagel, but twist my ankle on the curb. Limping, I continue to cross the street and nearly get flattened by a yellow taxicab.

Eyes wide I stare back at the driver. He thinks I’m suicidal. I reassure him with a toothy smile. Good morning! Happy Chinese New Year!

I hobble into Starbucks where there is a short line. I practice what I am going to say. A sesame bagel please. Toasted. With cream cheese.

Skinny caramel macchiato for Carl.

I’m overcome with the giggles, which get worse and worse and worse. I’m silently shaking with laughter, struggling to catch a breath of air. A fabulous black man wearing all black walks in, but awkwardly leaves without buying anything. Did I frighten him away?

I read the obituaries in the paper.

I avoid writing.

I go to Bed Bath and Beyond where I smell the candles, squeeze the memory foam pillows and feel the 1500 thread count Egyptian Cotton sheets.

I read about ankle sprains, chronic inflammatory demyelinating polyneuropathy disease and psoriasis with delight. Bodily betrayal is horrifying.

I switch to Murderpedia. I try to get through all the Manhattan homicides since 2005. There are a lot.

I jerk off to the idea of being published.

I down melatonin, a fistful of Benadryl, and 10 mg of Ambien so I can pass out before sunrise.

I wake up at 10 a.m. and take a sip of water. The water tastes like blood. Or maybe my mouth is bleeding.

My ankle is puffy and swollen, so I stick it in the freezer. I wonder if I can fit my whole body in there. I can, but the door won’t shut. The cold is leaking out. The heat is seeping in. This won’t do at all.

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