There had been a day before, just like the day before the one yesterday. But I'm just having trouble remembering what I should be able to remember quite easily, given that I am only attempting to remember 'yesterday' which, if I remember correctly, I last encountered less than 12 hours previously.
But on this second day of the weekend, a sleepy Sunday morning, I stirred softly from the deepest slumber I never asked for. So profoundly deep, I couldn't climb out of it. Even now in my awakened state, an unwelcome dreamscape smothers my memory like a clouded veil, awash with ripples of watercolour grey. I couldn't remember anything concrete, the images returned to me in a random patchwork of static pictures; fresh but with no fluidity, only weight and stiffness; like a big boulder stone. This dream lingers heavily inside me, like cold curry.
I persisted with my arduous mental walk back to conciousness. I blinked, until my eyes found focus. They were warmly welcomed by the shimmer of sunlight, instantly brightening my day. Glad for the sun, I plumped up my pillow in child-like excitement, causing a blizzard of activity you only see in the brightest light. The orange and gold rays highlighted the swirling particles of dust I had agitated, they floated and bounced everywhere like microscopic bubbles frozen in chilled apple cider.
It's taking me a lifetime to fully wake up, even though part of me doesn't want to be awoken, which is why I am not too sure if I am actually awake. I could still be asleep, dreaming that I am awake, but dreaming.
Not intending to state the obvious, Sunday is a day of rest. So, without a second thought, I turned around 360 degrees precisely and let my head nod back off.