It’s the night-time that’s the worst. His mind refusing to take a rest as it works to develop stories worth telling.
Even when he sleeps those few hours, his mind machinates, imagining, thinking what word should come next, how the story should flow and end. Then he wonders why he’s always so damned fatigued, mind and body.
Once the morning has come to pass, he’s then stuck with another dilemma. The one where he must recall what his brain had pressed so hard against sleep for.
“What was that story-line, again?” he’ll ask while sitting before his blinking computer’s screen.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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