I try to hide by burying my head under a mountain of pillows.  Hide from the noise.  Hide from the dull gray light filtering through the blinds.  Then I realize that I desperately have to piss.  I swing my feet to the floor in irritation.  My dehydrated joints snap and grind in protest as I shuffle to the bathroom.

I make one more attempt at sleep, eeking out a precious half an hour, before more noise jolts me out of bed.  Persistent, aggravating noise.  My response borders on panic for a moment until silence is restored.  Fully awake now, I realize that I have been robbed once again of a full night’s sleep.

How I long for that drowsy pleasure.

As if by some limbic macro, I slap a pan on the stove and shovel espresso into the coffee maker.  I gain height slowly as I arch my back, my spine popping like pine boughs on a cold morning.  I bend one knee, then the other.  The stiffness in the left leg, where the therapist thumbed and prodded my irritated fascia, seems to have abated.  I choke down breakfast, tasting only coffee and hot sauce.

Time for CNN.  Outside noise.  Move with a purpose.