W.W.J.D.

Recently I've found myself awake in bed sometime after 3:00am. Sometimes I don't look at the clock, because I saw a scary movie once where the girl wakes up at 3:33am and proceeds to be lacerated and raped by a dark, masculine figure. When I do look at the clock, it's only because I'm desperately hoping someone texted me, and I pray it doesn't say 3:33.

Last night I woke up at 3:14. I was mostly blind in my left eye. I was so delirious at first that I didn't really notice, or care, and as I was roused to consciousness I played it off as some second hand mascara or a rogue eyelash. I blinked and squinted the mascara off, but my lid was not strong enough to separate it from my eyeball. A bit of panic set in, and I thought my contact lens had scratched my cornea, or that this was how spirit possessions began and I'd need an exorcism sooner or later. I briefly imagined that I was slowly losing my sight, and thought about how life would be as a blind person, crossing East Campus Mall tentatively with pointed toes and one arm half-outstretched, and how everyone would feel bad for me and throw me a huge party and maybe you would change your mind about leaving out of some sad obligation.

I was awfully warm, spread eagle under layers of covers in an attempt to increase surface area to better radiate the heat from my body. My clothes were damp and smelled like the coconut lotion I had bought from the Community Pharmacy. I took my socks off with only my toes, something I've become good at, and shoved them down to the bottom of the sheet where it tucks under the mattress so I could find them later as a laundry surprise. I hastily shed all other layers as quickly as I could manage.

Apparently, earlier that night I had thought it would be wise to snugly tie the drawstring of my cotton pants (with the polka dots) in a double knot. Now, to a partially blind and mostly freaked out scared of the dark half asleep sweltering girl, this nearly made me scream sounds that a middle aged obese man produces when napping on his recliner with the worn arms and greasy headrest.

I don't know about you, but when I've just awoken, my hands don't work properly. I can't make fists. Go on, try it tomorrow morning immediately after you wake up. Try to make a fist. It's the same feeling I get when I'm sitting in the hospital with a sick person or when I'm in the hospital myself and they tell me this is serious and we're going to have to give you stitches. My swollen fingers failed at unraveling the mess of a drawstring, which was now all garbled and far worse off than before. I pulled each polka dotted cotton leg up around my hips as high as they would go, bundling the fabric between my legs like a pad you wear when you first get your period in 6th grade.

I'm not sure when I finally fell back asleep or if I really even did, but I do know that you never texted me back, and after that I had really strange dreams about being in a car accident, stuffing dollar bills into a plush pig, and sweeping long red hairs up from my bedroom floor.