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I woke up around 5 this morning half strangled by the T-shirt I was wearing and having to pee. The heater was hissing its blue flame flicker in the other room as I moved heavy and thick through the haze of sleep. This means I probably passed directly out when I stumbled into bed last night. Normally I would have taken off my shirt after the sheets warmed up to prevent the strangling. I move around a lot at night (I guess, as I also sleep heavy), so I know I need to remove as much clothing as I can before I slide off into sleep.

So I peed, the bathroom linoleum pulling the heat from my feet and headed back to bed. I suspected that I would be staring at the blue-ish, white glow of my iPhone screen, Twitter, FaceBook, various blogs, Words with Friends, until I simply was sick of lying in bed and got up and got going.

Today was one of those awesome days where I fell back asleep. Why is this sleep so different? It’s so intense in its massiveness. When I woke up from this second sleep a couple hours later, it felt like I had to climb up from 5 feet down in my mattress. I had sunk so heavy.

I could barely walk and zombie-shuffled to the bathroom again. In the mirror my hair was insane which leads me to believe that this is how crazy people always sleep. I had ginger chunks of it sticking, literally, straight up, fuzzy little puff balls from my blanket were scattered throughout like ornaments on a poorly decorated Christmas tree. And then there is the topography of my sheets embedded into my skin, a handprint where I must have been hugging my own shoulder. My face looked like it was made from clay, thick jowls, heavy bags hanging under my eyes. I thought, “My god, where have I been…”

The bummer part is, I don’t know where I had been. I barely ever remember my dreams from night sleep (or early morning sleep as the case may be). The only dreams I consistently remember (and if you follow me on Twitter or FaceBook you know) are those brief falls into a weird sub-concious that happen at my desk at work, after lunch, my stomach pulling all the blood from my brain to help digest whatever I had ingested. I need more access to my head.

After more peeing (what did I drink last night?) I went back into my room and gathered up a pair of jeans from my floor, slid into the cool denim, shirt and sweatshirt from the foot of my bed, hat, beat to shit shoes and grabbed my keys.

Feeling well-rested, but still not fully awake, I ventured into the frosty roof topped morning to grab coffee from Starbucks. And really this post is just to say, everyone at Starbucks looked like they had the same kind of morning. No one looked freshly showered and chipper. Thick faces, shuffling steps, wrinkled clothes… I felt a little more connected to people today, linked in our primitive grunts and blank stares.

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