Heat: 43c

I have filled myself with childhood books, and rounded endings, and have faced sleep in it's allusive state all in one late evening. It has passed - to light through sunroofs and a steadily building heat. I sweep the covers from me as if an ailment or causality, pushing me toward a Dave Syndrome-esque episode, a natural kick of the legs and jaunty limb movement spinning out as if the need had switched from attaining coolness to preserving a jagged personal space bubble. Thrashing is the only option I often cling to. Hoping I may be dropped and able to slink away.