I can hear the snores coming from the next room over, the jingle of collars, the crunch of cat food. People are outside, kicking at a beer can and murmuring. A car door slams in the distance. A peal of laughter.
I turn over and rearrange my sheet. I turn again: it feels like I can't breathe. I still can't breathe. I crack my neck and my eyes and stare at the shadows on the wall--they're in the shape of a mammoth, I think, or maybe an elephant. What's the difference between a mammoth and an elephant? I don't know, and I consider that.
I need to exercise, you know; this is quite outrageous. I can't keep avoiding going vegetarian or vegan (the final frontier?). Should there be werewolves in Pittsburgh or Morgantown? What would make them different from, say, the Anita Blake werewolves? I really want to get up and write, but if I begin to write, I'll just have to put it on hold for a week while I study for my final. Maybe I should force myself to stay awake and do something useful with my time. I could take up drawing. I've always enjoyed drawing. Maybe I could read for a few hours? No, that wouldn't work, I'd have to get out of bed and turn the light off and that would just wake me right back up. I realize that my eyes are open and I am definitely not thinking of nothing. My eyelids slam shut and I purse my lips and roll over.
I'm too warm with the sheet on, so I kick it off. The air conditioner promptly turns on, so I pull my sheet over my legs and, since my eyes are open, I check the clock. An hour and a half has passed. I flip onto my stomach and curl into a fetal position, the pillow to my chest. I have at least another hour to go. Maybe two. I'm never going to get any sleep.