Ohio, 2022

Ohio. Another sleepless night for reasons unknown. My bedtime programming hums with the static of insomnia. All the President’s Men. William Gibson. The history of medieval Europe. Cassette tapes of a Buddhist nun. But I’m learning to enjoy the extra time to brood. Acceptance is the answer.

This afternoon I finished migrating this internet station—and eight other websites—from the world’s worst hosting company to a new home. It feels zippier here. Untangling my nameservers, redirects, feeds, forwarders, and security certificates felt much like the jittery fever logic of insomnia: the knotty plumbing below the surface, the systems that work only when they go unnoticed.

Five days until C. and I drive into the desert. Illinois and Indiana look like fangs. I should go to bed.

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November 1, 2022
You can almost taste it, that bright metallic sensation that floods the brain when it decides there will be no sleep tonight.
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