I'm still in bed, on my side, left hand propping up my brain. The velvet blackout curtains are closed so all I see is a sliver of light from the outside world. I listen for rain or wind. I hope for sun and feel my skin crawl towards that wishing. Today. What to do nothing, to do nothing, to do, to do. Did. Done. Do. Doing. I prefer doing. The doing of this. The doing of this. The doing of this. Idling. Lazing. Smelling the air for what it is. For pancakes and honey. Stale breath and slept-in sheets that are sometimes articulated as "shits" by English speaking Columbians. "Stale shits." I hear rain and feel my abdominals cry out. My eyes look toward the sliver of light in the curtains. The sun is there, somewhere. I say hello. My feet hit cold ground.