I awaken with a start, the kink in my neck from sleeping at an angle finally forcing me to consciousness. I've never been a light sleeper. The second I close my eyes, i fall into a dark dreamless pit and writhe? float? wander? who knows? until something awakens me. The blare of an alarm clock, long tired of its sounds falling on deaf ears. Soft gliding rays of sunlight as they ease themselves onto my face and leak past my eyelids. I don't remember dreaming, I don't know how long I've slept, I barely know where I am. I've never known who I am. My mother says my sleep will begin to lighten up after I have children. Something about maternal affection and concern. I don't want kids, I don't feel affection, I'm not concerned.