Representing incessant insomnia, Bumps (in-the-night) is the racket inside my head when lying awake at night. Bumps is a ghost who rallies the other residents of Anxiety Avenue to accomplish the task of keeping me awake when I most want to sleep. For example, sometimes as I am drifting off to sleep, Bumps will burst out that I will die young. He’ll cackle as the Panic Pelicans squawk in alarm and The Whisperers chime in that if I’m dead, I won’t be able to keep drawing and painting. Although Bumps used to be debilitating and extremely unwelcome, I’ve had some success deflecting his rants by twisting them around into a positive pep-talk every night. That’s not how Bumps intends his rants to be received, but that’s how I have chosen to interpret them. Bumps may tell me I might die soon, but I can choose to hear that there is much to be done until that happens. I don’t want to control when I die, but I will control how I live. To discourage Bumps from rousing the other residents of Anxiety Avenue, his dwelling is installed as far away as possible from the other houses, ideally across the Avenue on an opposite wall.

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