What are you like in the morning?

Truthfully?

...I'm a mess.

Not the most intriguing answer I know, but it's really what it is. I've never been a still sleeper. Mama always said that part started from before I was even born, so I guess it isn't even a habit I grew into, but just a simple state of being. I shift and I twist, I curl up into a ball and I wrap both my arms around the pile of pillows I so often build up next to me. And that's all before I actually fall asleep.


And I'm not aware of it...I certainly don't remember it in the morning. But through the night all that shifting and moving and unsettledness leads to just one place. That mess. Pillows are flipped and piled into new formations. I've traded one corner of the bed for the other. And the blankets...the poor, poor blankets. They switch places, and they're bunched into near-unmanagable piles most often, and nearly every morning I have to pull everything off to simply even begin to figure out what recovering the bed looks like.

I match it all of course. How could I not match it all after sleeping through all that...making all that mess? Even if I try and braid my hair the night before, most likey it fought its way free, and is nothing more but a collection of knots. Creases are pressed into my cheeks from abused linens. And as I've gotten older, and moved more, and then took it further and moved away, it's only gotten worse. More energy, more to have a mind think and dwell on at night, or simply a bigger bed to explore it's actually one of the few things I've never considered that far.

I've left it simply at...a mess. It's the only word that is there when I look in the mirror.

Tangled might be a more intriguing word. Tangled thoughts for tangled sheets and tangled hair.

But truthfully?

A mess.