Sometimes I wake up cold. It’s not a regular occurrence at all, just some weird random heaven supplied punishment designed specifically to keep me from leaving the bed in the morning. Today was such a day. Five layers of covers, 10, it didn’t make any difference. My feet were freezing as if anticipating the sprint to the shower, anxious for the slapping of soles on the cold, slick tiles. I attempted to drag my eyelids open; millimeter by millimeter, to no avail. I may as well have been trying to left a 500 pound set of weights. I moved to rub my eyes and found the rest of my body just as sluggish rejecting my furtile attempts at movement. What did I do last night? I could only recall the strangest strands of memory, teasing what might have been a clue to my semi-immobile and freezing state. It was a morning for sleeping in.