Copy of a copy
I’m not sleeping much these days, a few hours here and there. Palahniuk’s right about insomnia, everything starts to feel far away. I feel like I’m a copy of a copy of a copy, world without end, Amen. I’ve quit sleeping before, this isn’t anything new, or unexpected. Ill-contented worriers don’t nod off well, we’re missing something important.
I vividly remember the last time I fell asleep content and happy, and it was so long ago, so far from here.
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