Insomniac Chronicles, Vol. 1

Daily writing prompt

What time do you go to bed and wake up currently?

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Sleep and I have a complicated history. We used to be close, tight, even. But somewhere along the way, we grew apart. Maybe it was the late-night thoughts that wouldn’t shut up, or the memories that kept crawling back under the covers. Now, we pass like strangers in a hallway—familiar, but distant.

Slumber is that elusive lover who whispers sweet nothings in my ear as she caresses the back of my neck. She pulls the sheets back, looking at me with that suggestive gaze of hers. I slip into bed beside her, feel her warmth press against my restlessness. That’s it—I begin to drift…

But just as the fog settles, chaos kicks open the door.

Suddenly, I hear my muse Ursula—lime green ass and all—screaming in my ears, “I want my words! You think this is fucking Boy Scouts?” I swear, Ursula has no manners whatsoever. She eats all the Cheez-Its and leaves crumbs in the bed. But she wears a fedora, smokes Cohibas, and if she thinks the groove is tight, she’ll pass you one and nod like jazz is leaking from her bones. So I spend the next several hours writing, creating graphics, editing film—or whatever the hell she’s decided is non-negotiable that night. I really need to buy her a bib. And a damn watch.

Wake time? Whenever Ursula crashes, the muse finally shuts up, or the coffee starts flirting again.