I get tired of the mustiness, the James Salters and the Lydia Davises and the Banana Yoshimotos. The cigarettes and the faux cigarettes (cinnamon sticks) that I keep in tin cans, the eternally shut window with the dark blinds, this fuzzy life of a day sleeper. I get tired. I get tired of replacing dreams for television and Netflix and the exhausting schizophrenic parade of tumblrs and drunken tweets and blogs. And more blogs.

Sometimes, you just have to shut it all down.