She couldn't speak, she didn't know how.

"What are you doing?"
"Scratching my shoulder.. You?"
"Touching my hands."
The level of awkward was too damn high. I told her to come to the outside bar to talk to me. She took her time swallowing her nerves. She brought her friend and didn't speak a word.

I had the worst night of sleep that I can remember. I couldn't get comfortable. I wasn't tired. I'd change positions frequently with a pillow between my legs, rearranging the bed several times. And in each movement my back ached at every turn I'd make. As soon as I felt my mind slip into my dreams I'd jump out of it feeling this gnawing pain. I wasn't sure if it was real or not because I couldn't tell where it was coming from. The sheets became hot and made me sweat. I was fully conscious for hours. I'd check the time repetitively: 12:30, 1:00, 2:00, 2:30. Being awake with my eyes closed wasn't meditative in the least. I don't know when I went to sleep. The awful sensation of my overwhelming consciousness stained my dreams. I had paralyzing nightmares that I couldn't shake. I imagined being hit by a train, feeling my stomach drop as I fell from the sky, and knew that I was dreaming. Lucid but impossible to control. I'd convince myself in my dreams that I just needed to wake and did, only to feel that I wasn't moving, that I couldn't.

As soon as I noticed a glimpse of light from behind my eyelids, I woke. My spine hurt. I had sightless memories of relentless scratching of my scalp. Hearing my nails move like a swarm of insects. My skin felt raw and my clothes were stuck to me like glue between pages of a book. Good morning world. I wish I could do drugs.