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#1. Her eyes scan the screen, reading, reading, pages open to her favorite sites, the ones that are her company in the wee hours, her hand poised over the mouse as she clicks from one to the other. All caught up, or the words no longer make sense. She sways, her eyes close, seconds pass until her tipping posture jerks her back to consciousness. And at last she feels ready. Power down, lights off, she slides between the sheets. The smooth cotton of the pillow caresses her face, her eyes close. Years of staring into the dark have taught her well.
#2. Her body taps at her awareness, the ache of joints too long in one position, the urgency of bladder, the realization of light on her closed eyelids. She shifts position, tries to will herself back into the dream, but the cat has heard her turn over, and he pats with soft paws at her curled hand, the tender inside of her forearm. He purrs into her ear and his whiskers tickle. She can't help jumping, and there's no going back now, she's awake. She sits up, stretches, glances at the clock. Five hours isn't bad.
#2. Her body taps at her awareness, the ache of joints too long in one position, the urgency of bladder, the realization of light on her closed eyelids. She shifts position, tries to will herself back into the dream, but the cat has heard her turn over, and he pats with soft paws at her curled hand, the tender inside of her forearm. He purrs into her ear and his whiskers tickle. She can't help jumping, and there's no going back now, she's awake. She sits up, stretches, glances at the clock. Five hours isn't bad.