I wake up to darkness. I reach with my right hand to find the side table by my bed. With knowledge of its placement, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed to stand.

One step forward, turn, and exactly 8 steps to the door. I touch the door frame and turn left. I let my fingertips brush the wall as I take 20 steps to the bathroom.

I feel for the bathroom rug with my foot. It is exactly in front of the sink. I stand on it, but not facing the sink, if I continue two steps, and sometimes a half step as I position myself, I find the toilet.

Relieved, I find the rug again and reach for the faucet. I found it was easier to find the faucet first, than just reach for the knobs, because it hurts to smack your fingers on the unforgiving steel. The soap is on the right, two squirts.

I walk back down the hall, wall on my right now, 20 steps, to my door. I get back in bed, unsure what time it is.

I wish I could see my alarm clock, my room, my world. I wish I never had to count steps. I hate those numbers!