Awake.

It's a winter morning. There is no light coming in through the window, the world is still sleeping. You lay there listening to the quiet muffle of your radio alarm. Your mind is conscious of the day's beckon, yet you are still caught up in this dream world, so real and heavy. In your dreams you are crawling on the floor, in an old, empty church. You would rather not be crawling, you would rather be stretching in the warmth of the bed, feeling your limbs begin to move with life again for another day. Even when your morning muscles feebly hold you up in the shower, there is a crawling-like quality to your movements. Your hand crawls to reach the shampoo, slowly. And you let the water wash you in silence for several minutes, mechanical movements warming you slowly. Surprisingly, the dream-trance has lifted by the time you turn off the squeaky taps, and flick back the shower curtain in search of a towel. You have awakened; step into the sanctuary of your day.