The Memory of Sleep

My body, still too heavy with sleep to move, would make an effort to construe the form which its tiredness took as an orientation of its various members. And even before my brain lingering in consideration of when things had happened, and of what they had looked like, I collected sufficient impressions to enable it to identify the room. Yeah, my body would recall from each room in succession what the bed was like, where the doors were. How daylight came in at the windows, whether there was a passage outside. The stiffened side underneath my body would, for instance, been trying to fix its position, imagine itself to be lying, face to the wall, in a big bed with