I'm a very light and infrequent sleeper. I often wake up in the middle of the night and lay in bed, trying not to think of sleep because if you think about it somehow you scare it off, for my sleep is delicate and fragile, a gift as easily taken as given. And while not sleeping and not thinking about sleep my brain comes crawling out from beneath the bed, wheezing and chuckling, to talk to me about a few of my fears, my failures, the things I wish I had done differently, the people I've hurt and the people who have hurt me. "Look at this one," he says, "haven't thought about it for years, have you? How about this one? I'll save this one for a dream, go back to sleep kid, I got a good one for you, this one'll kill ya..."