Another day forfeited. Every sleepless night robs you of the next day. Every day lost undermines accomplishment, delays progress. You could do so much more if you could string together a productive week. For the chronic insomniac, you are ever starting at square one, because you cannot gain any momentum in life. It’s always the first day at the gym, the first day of rehab, nine months til you’re due. You’re always practicing scales, stuck as a white belt, riding on training wheels. You’re forever on numbers and days of the week in the primer. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, but one step must follow the last to proceed. The insomniac places each foot in the same print over and over again until that loathsome divot becomes a hole, so deep you can’t see over the top, but there is nothing to do but keep on stepping, and try to appreciate the soil around you, because you’re not going anywhere.
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