That remnants of sleep are still sticking around the ends of my eye lashes tell me I shouldn't have woken up early to get on with life as it is.
The persisting scrapes of slumber have housed themselves upon my eyes and are trying to force them shut, and here I am trying to type while fantasising about my bed that I have already made and I do not wish to disrupt its calm.
In hindsight I curse my zeal with which I flung the duvet covers and stepped out into the cold cold world, leaving behind an ardent blaze of toasty covers, gaping wide open, leaking my body heat into the world.
It's strange how the first half hour is spent in a constant state of flux. The 'who am I, where am I, what am I' is strong with me each morning and I shuffle about the house like an automaton who's been fed with a series of data and algorithms with which to function.
I see nothing, I care about no one and I understand absolutely zilch.
The entire process is mechanical and I'll tell you one thing darling, my batteries didn't get charged up completely last night.
Gods I feel sleepy.
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