I'm getting into the habit of showing up places an hour or two after everyone else. The middle of the night arrives sooner that way. The hours between three and nine slipped right past me. After a while people started falling a sleep and I folded myself up in an armchair to fight with an iPod. Eventually I fell asleep for about fifteen minutes, but the sun kept poking me in the head. Around noon I got up out of the armchair and crept out of the apartment. I couldn't handle the world on my own, so I went over to Sam's and sat on the stoop while he got dressed. We went for tea and I showed him the pictures we'd taken. I burnt my tongue and tried to explain all night conversations to an I went to bed last night guy. I said, "Tonight," and he reminded me, "Last night." He said, "You look awfully fresh for someone who's been up for so long," and I said, "I may look alright, but I'm a shipwreck on the inside." After that I came home and went right to bed. It was about two-thirty in the afternoon, and I'm never going to recover. In my sleep I thought that K. was here, but it was just the blankets. It's weird the way I miss him when I'm sleeping. It's so harmless.

Now I've been up for a couple of hours, but I can't seem to do anything. I want to watch The Lost Prince, but the television is too far away. I want someone to read to me so that I don't have to hold my eyes open. I should eat something, but I can't handle the kitchen. I'm going to have to give up and move to Brooklyn, because I'm getting tired of feeling so far away. I didn't have any dreams before, maybe I'll go do that now and when I wake up again I'll do it like I mean it.