All I know is that I am not sleeping, that it is early morning, and darkness fills the hole in the window.  I wonder if this story is being written or has been completed and I merely am at this point.  Has it all been laid out already? Neatly typed?  Printed and bound?  Am I scooting along to some ending that has already been, determined, that even a casual reader can discover by leafing to the end of a manuscript?  I get to slog word by word through this pointless mess.  You’d think I’d be given a little more consideration.