Wrinkled

I woke up before dusk in a pool of sweat and early morning dew pressed on my window. Soft light emanated from the TV I forgot to turn off. It was 3 AM. The sky was still growing darker and darker, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night. I was restless, feeling the lick of the blanket's fabric with every toss and turn. It's funny how when there's nothing to do, you do and feel everything more slowly and intently. But even with this heightened sense of care I'm tumbling into mistake after mistake - regret after regret. It's like when you misbutton a shirt. Every attempt to correct things lead to another mess. I'm pretty clumsy - I'll admit that. But I guess I've gotten used to making messes just as I've gotten used to cleaning them up. 

The rest of the night turned to dusk and scaled into morning faster than I could shut my eyes. I trembled under my covers as the cold morning air filled the room and water droplets danced in the eaves. It was like standing pantsless on a cool block of ice. You can't help but awkardly dance to fight the chill. And as I got up to start the day, I was excited to wear the new jacket I just bought. But I forgot to hang it the night before and it was wrinkled. I wore it anyway.