154/365 01/23/2026

The drip, drip, drip of the faucet wasn’t enough to wake him up in the night, nor was it enough to prevent him from sleep when, tired and worn from the day, he lay his head on his pillow and shut off the small light on his bedside table. But the drip, drip, drip of the bathroom faucet—the sound like a faint ringing of crystal. The slow, methodical tap as some imagined someone called for attention at a party. The sound was enough to distract him from getting back to sleep those nights he woke to some unknown and unknowable fear settled in his chest. A mind that raced toward nothing. Scrolling checklists of “maybe someday” and “should get to” unspooling in his mind and insurmountable, the small details adding up day after day