It's one in the afternoon, a Wednesday. I'm in bed. The sadness and hopelessness I feel are sickly. I fell asleep at three in the morning after a fight.
I'm drifting in and out of sleep. I don't want to get up.
Now it's three. I'm still in bed. Confusing dreams. I still don't want to get up. There's nothing to get up for. There's nothing I can do. There's no breakfast and I'm broke. There's nothing. I don't want to do anything. My head hurts but I don't want to get up and make coffee. Maybe I'll keep sleeping for a while more.