Thinking about the next day.

My solution has been to scroll through my life, my thoughts, my fantasies, my memories, mis-memories, and the like until I have chanced upon events, people, or narratives that I can employ to divert my mind from the body in which it is encased. These mental exercises have to be interesting enough to hold my attention and see me through an intolerable itch in my inner ear or lower back; but they also have to be boring and predictable enough to serve as a reliable prelude and encouragement to sleep. It took me some time to identify this process as a workable alternative to insomnia and physical discomfort and it is by no means infallible. But I am occasionally astonished, when I reflect upon the matter, at how readily I seem to get through, night after night, week after week, month after month, what was once an almost insufferable nocturnal ordeal. I wake up in exactly the position, frame of mind, and state of suspended despair with which I went to bed—which in the circumstances might be thought a considerable achievement.

Worrying about my kids, self-doubt and creaky noises.

Wondering why I can’t sleep.

Whenever I’m with my wife and I’m not preoccupied with work.

Surviving this world.

The usual racist shit.

Your average aid worker, wherever they may be. Any human being doing good by helping others, while putting themselves in harm’s way.

Amazing, all-consuming, overwhelming.

Being called upon by President Bush to ask him a question at a press conference when I wasn’t there. He called my name … and there was no response!