139am

Nights have come and gone too fast these days. Now, 1:39am, does not seem to have come after I have done anything at home after a long day filled with usual stress and, particularly today, supressed anger at my heartless editor who made annoying, disruptive changes to the flow of my story. No mood to sleep, with my stomach cramping as usual, realising too soon will come the time for getting up on another working day. Where is life? 15 hours of work and travel a day. Separate holidays spent on long but shallow sleep. Two days off a week, true, but they are not bringing me the feel of rest. This is reality. I have told friends we should not give in to reality. This only works when people have no emotions. ''This is the post-modern syndrome afflicting well-fed youngsters born in the affluent '80s.'' This is also what I told one friend. I think this is kinda true. There is one good thing, as far as I have sought to find out, about this job - I started to feel comfortable while writing, well, typing.