It is from the state of drowsy dreams, as my subconscious self hands over the reins of the night, that my best ideas are born.
In the clean light of a new day I am halfway to wakefulness, halfway from the dreams of the night to fashioning new dreams of the daytime.
As Carter wakes his mind swims with a departing dream; he sighs, reluctant to banish it and begin his day. The light of late morning shines into his slowly opening eyes and he brings his hands to guard them. Everything about him feels heavy from his arms to his feet. He lets his head loll from one side to the other, eyes closing one more time as he enjoys the brief darkness. There is no option to sleep on, no chance to rest and conjure his dream anew.
My head has become foggy, like that time when alcohol takes me into oblivion, but I haven't drunk a drop. It's as if every eye lash weighs more than it should and gravity has been turned up ten fold. In moments I acquiesce and lie on the dirty ground, brain checking out as I slide into instant REM.
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