Waking Up

I never really know which comes first, opening my eyes or waking up. The difference may not matter, but on mornings like this I wish I could just keep them closed. The sun is already high, heat and light pressing down through the plastic blinds of my bedroom window. I turn away and writhe, arms and legs, in a tangle of cheap cotton sheets slick with sweat. Nowhere stays cool long enough for me to get comfortable. I’m losing the battle, and I know I’m losing but I pull my quilt tighter in defiance, although really in fear. There’s nothing to be afraid of in my own room, just like there’s no reason to be tired after a night’s sleep, or sad at a new day. I know this, or I would know it if I could think, but my mind is drifting in and out and I can’t think…