Four twenty-three PM.

My body disagrees.

No, four twenty-three AM.

(It took me three minutes to write these three sentences.)

Who stuffed wool down my lungs? Who gave me a gut and skinny arms?

I am living the lyrics to the Talking Head's song Once in a Lifetime.

Where am I? How did I get here?



All I can remember is getting up at two AM feeling completely awake. I read until five AM, and then stepped onto the balcony. The City's lights were glimmery and majestic. A pale blue light was emerging in the east. I went up to Dolores Park for sunrise and then came back to the apartment to say goodbye to Sarah and Cecilia before they went to work.

I remember watching Dr. Phil at 9 AM. The show was about adults who still live with their parents. After Dr. Phil, I went to Cancun Burrito down on Mission and brought home a beef burrito and gorged on it while writing a few e-mails. Then, I crawled into Sarah's bed fully clothed.

I woke up startled and looked at the clock. Three fifty-eight. I was too hot to sleep and the fear of not having taken out the trash and leaving dirty dishes in the sink motivated me to think about getting up. How embarrassing to have Sarah or her roommate come home and find me in bed with a mess all over the house. I don't want to be a deadbeat and end up on Dr. Phil, I thought.

I wobble down the stairs with a bag of discarded vegetables and salmon scales.

Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was...

I stagger down the stairs with a sack full of lemon rinds and salmon skin.

It's a minute past five.

(It's taken me thirty-eight minutes to write this.)