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.