I rise to a dark room with a loud fan. It’s cool, but not too cool for school. Keith has no requirement and therefore no reason to get up with the morning light, and this makes me want to hunker down until afternoon. Partway through the night, I caught a few proper Z’s by flipping myself around in bed. A sleeping sand had truly piled on me, and I reluctantly dug myself out when it became necessary some hours later.

I don’t sleep well. I never do. 

And yet when I looked to the mirror, a well-rested person gazed back at me. 

I look up and unfortunately acknowledge a pile of poop on the living room rug, accompanied by some brown similar substance off to the side. I do not even look at Melody, who is standing quite close, as I stand and venture for cleaning supplies, for I know her claim will be that she knows not where it came from, and I don’t really have time for nor any interest in arguing. I clean up the mess. She is waiting expectantly. I quietly ignore her.

My glow? Between 4and 8A, I slept. I slept without waking. I slept without moving. My eyes did not open. Melody did not disturb. I was not shaken conscious by noisy dreaming. No wonder I wanted to stay there past my time. No wonder I look so strange in the mirror.

Sleep, the steel beams of mental fortitude. It’s nice once in a while.

_11/19/2023

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