it’s 12 midnight. everyone’s asleep. i’m breaking my back slouching over the darn table. i just drank a mug of black coffee, no sugar or creamer and let me tell you, i hate coffee with all my life. but i promised myself i won’t sleep tonight. that i’d actually work on my novel. the day was long and winding; before going to school, i read and finished Fabio Moon and Gabriel Ba’s Daytripper. Easy enough because it was a short read, but it left me in a trance, and i kept replaying Bras’ multiple deaths in my head while sitting in class. i left school immediately and read poems by Anna Akhmatova on my commute home. i bummed around in bed for a bit, then was forced to attend evening church service. before i left for church, I started on Craig Thompson’s Blankets. i got home from church at 9pm, finished editing my staff writer’s articles, and then continued reading Blankets until 11:30pm, finally finishing the graphic novel. This, too, left me in a trance. And in tears. I always tell myself that if I am not writing, I must be reading, or vice versa. It’s not something i try to strive for, it’s a rule I force myself to abide by at all times. if i am not reading, then i should be writing. if i am not writing, then i should be reading, but never neglecting both at the same time. i wasn’t sure if i could write today, and i was wary if i’d be able to find small windows of time to work on my novel because other responsibilities kept me busy. i can say i don’t have the time, but, i will admit, i also don’t have the heart. and i hate myself for it. and so, at 12 midnight, I guzzled black coffee to force myself to write. so far i’ve got the draft of the first two chapters, but i hate that I’m moving too slow, especially when i have a deadline to meet in a month. the more rational side of me tells me i cannot do it, but theres a sliver of hope inside me, wishing, that i will pull through. and so here i am. i’m not sleeping tonight. and although i hate myself for not working on my novel as much as i should, i am also happy that i was able to make time for so much reading today. two graphic novels in one day, a couple of Russian poems, and five of my staffers’ articles are enough to satiate me today. but i cannot stop here. i have to write. i have to write. and my eyes are drooping. secretly i hate myself for drinking coffee because it never seems to work on me, but i know i cannot waste any more time. i think i’ve wasted enough in the past couple of months, and i will surely regret and hate myself for never writing enough. tonight i am going to force myself to write. i am going to force myself to write. i have all these dreams, but i cannot live in my dreams forever. as per Daytripper, what my dreams really show me is what my life can be once i open my eyes. i have to take control of my own narrative. so i’m going to write.