Disconnected statements and half baked emotions all line the edges of my bed.

They are living, breathing things that speak with each other. Or so I like to believe. Everything I think and feel comes and stands around me. It's easier to put it together that way, when you think of these things as entities and not just whims of your tired mind.

It's like having a curious slumber party. People sitting at the edge of your bed, telling stories, asking questions. It's like being with a delightful mix of people who may not know each other but know you and, possibly, like you as well.

I shut my eyes at some point, listening to snippets of conversations and voices.

Later, I try writing. It doesn't necessarily come out in a flawless manner, but I have more fun than I   do otherwise.

I will sleep.

In a room with the windows shut and the fan whirring in silence. The curtains will be drawn and the lights will be turned out. The outside world will not come in and peek, with its honks and shouts.

When I wake, I will check the time and roll over and sleep for another day or so. The dreams will be both eventful and calming. They will be in shades of blue and white.

I will wake up finally and eat some wheat flakes with milk. I will consume a banana, sliced into tiny pieces.

Then I will be able to deal with the world and its people