The Urgent Artist

"Listen. There's no way to wake from drowning. You either are or you aren't. Or you go to bed drowning, certain you'll be drowning for the rest of your life, and then you wake up to the sounds of the radio that you left on blaring auto-tune and country at three in the morning, the clothes from yesterday scattered on the floor. And as you go to pick them up, thinking 'what exactly about this moment, this very moment, woke me up?' -bamn, you're dry as a desert. And it takes you a while to realize what's happened, and you even have to think back to know, to really know, how long it's been going on like this. Because you see, it feels like it's always been there, same as the drowning. Either that, or you start fine, and you feel the wave coming over you, this thick long shadow, waiting to toss you like a rag doll. And that shadow, baby - listen baby - that shadow, the weight of the wait as it hangs over you, that ain't nothing to the heaviness you feel when the gravity crashes down."