Things I said in interviews.

My dog wanting to go out for a wee.

My solution has been to scroll through my life, my thoughts, my fantasies, my memories, mis-memories, and the like until I have chanced upon events, people, or narratives that I can employ to divert my mind from the body in which it is encased. These mental exercises have to be interesting enough to hold my attention and see me through an intolerable itch in my inner ear or lower back; but they also have to be boring and predictable enough to serve as a reliable prelude and encouragement to sleep. It took me some time to identify this process as a workable alternative to insomnia and physical discomfort and it is by no means infallible. But I am occasionally astonished, when I reflect upon the matter, at how readily I seem to get through, night after night, week after week, month after month, what was once an almost insufferable nocturnal ordeal. I wake up in exactly the position, frame of mind, and state of suspended despair with which I went to bed—which in the circumstances might be thought a considerable achievement.

The baby monitor. Followed by my own fake snores.

My brother, Michael. He is an academic and has devoted his life to scholarship; my life seems trivial by comparison. Bastard.

My complete ineptitude at sport.

I Will Remember You, by Sarah McLachlan. That’ll choke the bastards up if nothing else will.

Still being in work. And my vineyards; they’re beautiful.