It was all empty…a clear, malleable, plastic-like nothingness that somehow stretched its nonexistent tendrils around every molecule that dare parade itself before it.  Despite what wasn’t there, he couldn’t see anything.  Couldn’t make the shape of things.  All blurry.  Colors dulled.  Uniform.  Monotone.  He couldn’t make his eyes strain.  He tried, once, forcing the memory of basic motor function through neurons, forcing the electricity to crack and whip through his feeble skull, but it just clamped around his temples and squeezed until his eyes suddenly closed in one hasty swoop.  Darkness, darkness, darkness…then open.  Then open.  Then open.  Then open.  Then…

Standing here, I am somewhat tired, but mostly delirious…or tired…or delirious, but probably tired.  I can feel the cold tiles beneath my feet.  Feel the dust and grime lodged within the cracks that had formed over years of neglect.  There is moving air here.  It is somewhat cold, but mostly refreshing.  Someone must have left the window open again.  A window in the bathroom.  It is mostly light outside.  A dull, gray light.  An ambivalent light.  I am everything but ambivalent, here, now, standing, looking into my eyes.  My hands are firmly planted upon the counter, and I must have been gripping them tightly because my knuckles are sore and my fingers are empty of blood.  I can’t feel my fingertips.

It’s too early to be awake. It’s too early to deal with the fact that I’ve been sleepwalking again. Somnambulance, a gift given by my dearest mother. It’s been nearly four years since I woke to find myself where I was not meant to be. This is unsettling, though perhaps not completely surprising. There have been signs. Eyelids twitching, skin tightening, feeling as though thoughts in my brain are completely incapable of traveling the correct pathways to communicate to the rest of my body. Walking requires concentration. My legs feel weak. My head oscillates. I don’t want to deal with this right now.