Don’t Fall Back Asleep

Tonight I’m staring at the screen with nothing loaded in the chamber.

Because I didn’t write yesterday.

I woke up like I always do. Reached for the tablet. Scrolled. Fucked around. Didn’t open a blank document. Didn’t free-write. Didn’t feed the thing that actually feeds me.

And now I’m paying for it.

The day filled in like they always do. Work. Appointments. A woman explaining God to another woman. Picked up one bike. Dropped off another. Then I ripped Aurora through my standard Santa Fe arc, froze my ass off, grinning through the wind like a lunatic.

Came home. Took forever to warm up. Fell asleep on the couch.

Now it’s midnight. And the words feel distant.

Here’s the thing no one tells you: It’s easy to fall back asleep.

Not literal sleep. Not drifting off on the couch. I’m talking about the slow kind. The creative kind. The spiritual kind. The “I’ll do it tomorrow” kind.

After the accident, one thought rang louder than anything else: I cannot fall asleep again.

And it almost feels like my own Nightmare on Elm Street scenario. Not because Freddy Krueger is waiting in the boiler room, but because for me, sleep equals surrender. You stop creating. You stop reaching. You let the grind eat the edges off you.

And the monster doesn’t slash you in your dreams. It just quietly erodes you.

One missed morning turns into two. Two into three. Then you’re just “busy.” Then you’re tired. Then you’re numb. Then a year goes by and you can’t remember the last time you felt electric.

That’s the real nightmare. Death of the human spirit doesn’t come screaming down the hallway. It comes comfortable.

It’s funny, I’ve been given names my whole life. In grade school, I was “Spaz.” Smart kid. Glasses taped together. Too sharp for comfort.

In bootcamp, I was “Jockstrap.” Nothing magical. Just the J in my last name. I owned it anyway.

On the submarine, I was “Swede.”

At some point, I learned something: You can let a name shrink you. Or you can build yourself around it.

You can let it define you. Or you can define it.

Falling back asleep is shrinking. It’s letting the world, laziness, comfort, or routine start shaping you again.

I’ve worked too damn hard to go back to that.

I felt the slide start yesterday. Just a little. And that was enough to scare me.

So here I am at midnight reopening the channel. Not because it’s easy. Not because it’s romantic. But because staying awake matters.

Creation keeps me conscious. Discipline keeps me dangerous. And drifting is not an option.

I survived once. I’m not going back to sleep again.