Today

            I have slept eleven hours, total, in the past three days. This seems bad, and I’m exhausted, yet I cannot sleep. I am not tired, just exhausted. I have way too much energy when I probably shouldn’t.

            I had to work from 8-3 today, so I went to bed early, or I tried. I fell asleep sometime around three, then proceeded to wake up, like clockwork, every twenty minutes in a sort of frightened daze, until I finally woke up at 6am and stayed awake. I’m really not a morning person.

            Work—package store—presented me with a shipment of roughly 700 boxes—wines, sixpacks, 30’s, etc, etc, etc. I actually enjoyed putting it away, as being busy at work is a good thing; it focuses your mind on the task so you don’t just wander around like an idiot. Even so, I was working alone, so I had a good six hours to just think, and think, and think.

            At one point I was in the freezer for three straight hours—with short excursions out—in shorts and a t-shirt. It’s about forty degrees in there. My hands throbbed, lips chapped, and testicles shrunk. I felt them in the bathroom just to make sure.

            My boss, in passing, said, “Schrage, what’s wrong? You look lost. Why are you so silent?”

            “What? Nothing. I’m thinking. I’m a thinker. I’m reflecting.”

            Silence.

            “You’re fucked up.”

            Silence.

            “I know.” I smile.

            I didn't feel lost. I’m not entirely sure how one feels lost unless they truly are lost, and I didn't think I was being silent, but that must be the case. A lot of being have been telling me I’m more silent than usual in past few weeks. I don’t know why. I don’t think I’m being silent, but I must be if people are calling me out on it.

            I guess I’m just waiting for a lot of things to happen, and in that waiting I’m thinking. Silently. Waiting for more responses from agents and magazines and job applications, waiting to move out, waiting until I really sink into this novel I’m starting, waiting for messages to be returned, for friends to answer back.

            At least, as an artist, I’m used to failure, rejection, waiting, preserving, and of course believing everything will eventually come together. You’re fucked without that mindset.

            Regardless, my boss calling me lost took me off guard. I suppose I must to not look lost when I am not lost.