I feel sleepy all the time; haven't quite gotten my groove back when it comes to the daily coffee shop gig grind. There are enough sad old men to keep me in short story writing for days. It's like I am in a loop of " A Clean, Well Lighted Place." It helps that this town feels out of time-but I look and feel so much older doing the work I began at eighteen. My jaw feels sticky, my feet ache at the end of the day, my brain hums at a low frequency, trying to balance one goal against another, registering everything but not quite processing any of it.