caution: contents hot

Dear K-

I have been busy. I apologize. For the record, I didn't automatically banish your call to my voice mail. I was up in international waters when you called and I didn't have service. I actually didn't receive the message until several days later, as it was.

It's the time of year for my insomnia to return. Hot, stale nights of laying on top of the sheets, wondering why I can't relax. It's fantastic. I mean that in the most sarcastic of ways.

Perhaps my lack of sleep is evident by the dryness of this letter. Who knows. Of course, as I sit in this crowded little cafe, drinking an unreasonable hot cappuccino that makes me feel like I'm sweating on the inside as well as the outside, I can't help but think that at least my insomnia has come about at a time when I can stand to sleepwalk through the days. I don't work at the moment, unless you call pecking away at a childishly-written detective novel work. Because that's what I've been up to lately. I've been trying to write again.

And it's all going in the drawer. I don't give a fuck. I did let a coworker read two of my previously written detective stories. That cheap, miserable drivel I pump out when I have nothing better to do. She adored the first, but then commented that in the second story the lead character started sharing too many of my own personal insecurities.

In high school, my AP English teacher told me to write what I know. I guess I know my insecurities. I didn't know what else to do.

I hope you are well. I hope you are enjoying your fluster of activity and preoccupation.

Undulating,
-K