it's late. can't sleep. ulcer raging in my stomach.
everytime i lie down, the damn thing flares up. it feels like burning. very much like heartburn, but instead of a mild burning sensation it feels like a white-hot sword cauterizing the inside of my stomach.
i can't concentrate long enough to write, either. if it's not the pain, it's my mind wandering through the hundreds of things we still need to do, and still need to get fixed, or the myriad of problems that could go wrong.
i packed up most of my basement writing room earlier this evening. it was nice going through all the shit i had saved up. i went through everything i've had published, and it turns out i am missing something. if any of you have an extra copy of the small matchbook-sized broadside from 24th Street Irregular Press, titled fuck you, tom brokaw, would you be willing to part with it? i don't own one and would really like to. if you want to hold it ransom, we can talk trade.
anyway, it was nice looking through the heft stack of rejections, the various magazines and chapbooks and other poetry paraphrenalia i've accumulated over the last 12 years.
now, all that's left is for me to do is fall asleep. if this keeps up a nervous breakdown can't be too far away.
2 comments:
You have an ulcer????
yes, unfortunately. it's pretty damn painful, too. it's been better lately, what with the stress subsiding, but some days are better than others. the worst is when it wakes you in the middle of the night, straight out of a dead sleep, with the worst pain you can imagine. it's horrible.
ah hell. we've all got our shit to deal with. mine's no worse than anybody else's, it's just self-induced. ;)
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