I was under a flat sheet and the air conditioner was blaring. The TV had some kind of crime documentary -- the ones from late 80's to early 90's -- on in the background. There were no other lights. As I dozed in and out of basically a giant nap, I heard the TV but didn't really comprehend it. I didn't remember the last time I'd taken a shower, and I didn't care. Thinking to use the right soap product on the right part of me was a hurdle that was far too high to jump. Had breathing been voluntary, I probably wouldn't have been able to continue it. I thought about being a newborn and craved it: all I would need was taken care of for me. All I had to think about was sleeping and eating. I didn't have to manage anything -- I could just be. I kept trying to reenact it -- all I had to do was rest. I wish I had remembered it. It sounded like such luxury, such peace. I hated waking up. I just wanted to sleep. I didn't want to wake up. Lord,