…cycle

that was twice.

twice tonight that two different illustrators have made light of the fact that the bastard is up at midnight.

answering email.

trying to get shit done.

you sir are a workaholic a new guy called me.

I've already convinced the other seasoned pro that I never sleep.

don't get me wrong.

I do after I get shit done.

and wait out the voices.

but you see,

I've become a victim of circumstances.

a self fulfilled prophecy.

a man with post traumatic stress disorder.

a goddam idiot too.

I let the toddler get to me when he tried to do me in.

it has me up at night.

like how Sunday nights kept me up at night a log time ago.

I've told me new boss about my circumstances and he says 'it's in the past mate'

but it ain't.

it's with me everyday and I can't let it go.

and I know for shy sure that it's not healthy.

doesn't make it go away anymore.

every night, I live the last 12 months over and over again and all I can do to drown it out is work.

then go home and work some more.

and relive it again and again and again.

stupid old man. stupid lucky old man.

my brother comes tomorrow and I feel relieved to have a break from my mental problems.

my only regret is that I can't stay out til 6am to exorcise these demons that come to me on my balcony every night to tell me I'm fired.

stupid fucking demons. please don't come to the gun show. I don't have it in me to hold it together around you. I may have to punch you in the face.

—the bastard