It’s 3:00 a.m.

I woke up because I had to pee, then I realized it was past midnight and I’d missed my credit card payment deadline. Crap. So I got up and I opened my laptop and I paid it. Then I looked at my bill calendar and paid everything else I needed to. Then I started reading a travel article about the haunted Pierpont Inn in Ventura I’d opened earlier in the evening. Then I remembered my first-ever stripping job, and how my first night on the job I’d gone there, not really knowing what to expect. A very tiny Texan man asked me to wrestle him, and it brought up all these middle-school PE insecurities. Now I am up writing about being a middle-school wrestling loser. Wasn’t I just asleep? How did this happen?

I assume other writers occasionally experience a less gross and pathetic version of this.

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