Listen, sometimes when you finally find out, you realize that you were much better off not knowing.

Is it sad to fancy David Tennant when you're dead?

…she smiles in an exhausted but warm sort of way, as though she is a brilliant sun in some other galaxy

Sleep is my lover now, my forgetting, my opiate, my oblivion.

What are you doing?" Nothing. Breaking and entering. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

I sleep all day. Noises flit around the house- garbage truck in the alley, rain, tree rapping against the bedroom window. I sleep. I inhabit sleep firmly, willing it, wielding it, pushing away dreams, refusing, refusing. Sleep is my lover now, my forgetting, my opiate, my oblivion. [...] It is afternoon, it is night, it is morning. Everything is reduced to this bed, this endless slumber that makes the days into one day, makes time stop, stretches and compacts time until it is meaningless.

Time passes and the pain begins to roll in and out as though it’s a woman standing at an ironing board, passing the iron back and forth, back and forth across a white tablecloth.