dog years: Insomnia Study Journal Entry: May 9, 1989 (Day 1)
I'm not sleeping. The skin under my eyes is puckered and loose and dark.
I've read things accomplished writers have written about insomnia and none of it connects with me.
The bedroom is a lonely place. Even with my wife beside me. She sleeps deeply, quietly.
I heard someone say that they have watched their wife sleep and she looked like a monster.
I understand what he meant. You can't help but love them, but they look foreign in the shadows. Sinister.

When I can't sleep, I drive.
Last night I drove to New Bern and back. New Bern has an all night diner that serves fresh oysters.
On the way down east, I watched a man jump out of his truck, take his shoe off, and throw it at a flashing traffic light.
I slowed to a stop and watched him through the rear glass.
He squatted in the road and placed his palms flat on the black top. His head rose slowly and he looked at me.
I pulled away when I saw him untie his other shoe.

I took a sleeping pill after I ate. During the drive home the world felt like it didn't exist unless I saw it.
I mean, that it seemed like the world was a charcoal drawing being created as it appeared through the windshield.
I went faster and faster trying to move out beyond the black outlines and into the empty white. But, what I was racing for ended up
being the sun, rising in my rear view mirror.