Wake up during the night thinking it's morning, roll over in a sweat and go back to dreaming a false reality I wish to carry me away in the moment. Morning finally comes and I stir slowly--do I enjoy the guilt of sleep or is my conscious to heavy to neglect my duties? I rise. Bathroom smells, there's hair on the walls. I don't bother shaving what won't be seen. Work in sweats--how my body aches to work up a sweat. Get dressed. Jeans are too damned tight. Wear them anyway--they've just been washed, they'll stretch. It's noon and they haven't yet. But I just swollowed a PBJ sandwich. Work aint done yet--it never is. The weather aint cold now--not really warm, either, but the room sure is. AC is off and out of my control so my plams just sweat on the edge of the keyboard. Obnoxious music plays outside. My roommate and I are silent. Just another hour spent in awkwardness. Tonight I pledge to do a stretch on the bike, maybe lift a thing or two until I shake. I'll race to nowhere till I break--give it ten minutes, tops. But I'm looking forward to tomorrow and, well, there's my downfall. Anxious to go home again, to feel in control again, to be on top again. This day of bad smells, horrible music, and tight jeans is just going to have to hurry its ass up because I can't wait for it to pass. Carrie