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The alarm went off and my eyes popped open. The sound was like a drill to the temple; I reached over and shut it off. I sat up in bed and felt like gravity was working against me. Then, I began to dig the palm of my hands into my eyes, almost as if to get the dreams to leave my vision. I throw back the covers and shuffle to the bathroom.

I look in the mirror and see nothing more than the compilation of a few restless nights of sleep. The bags under my eyes give me away.

I shuffle to the kitchen in order to make some coffee. It's been the only thing getting me through the day. I look out the kitchen window and see that it is pouring rain outside. I see every individual rain drop as they fall from the sky. They all go to the ground. It was as if they all spoke to me "go back to bed". The sky is crying for you, your work is not needed here.

I sit at the table and try to clear my head. What was it the therapist said? "Think of things to be thankful for. Do things that make you happy."

I looked out the window. "I guess this means I won't have to water the plants today." I looked out the window and realized I couldn't find comfort in much else. Why don't I just go back to bed?

I finished the last of my coffee and willed myself to stand. After what seemed like a two hour bath, I came back to the kitchen and did the only thing I could imagine doing.

I wrote you the letter that I wrote you every day, and put it on the growing pile of letters with no address.