Late Night with a Kramorian Fangor Beast

the radio-alarm begins to speak and i realize that the memory of climbing the stairs to bed is not so much a memory as an assumption. surely i did not simply materialize beneath my favorite red quilt, surrounded by pillows like eager puppies. counting the drinks from last night, holding the wall still with my steady palm....one, two...three...Three. that's not much; was it sheer exhaustion then that dropped it's heavy hand on me, making me forget the way from the door to the bed? let's see, coat sleeping on floor by entry, shoes showing i must have taken a hard right at the sofa and become lost by the computer before flipping a bitch and heading straight for the kitchen leaving the grape juice on the counter to ferment in the heat of the night. i impress myself with my expert tracking abilities, it must be a gift from my native heritage. still, there's no explanation for the strange markings i left in socks on the sofa. selfish heiroglyphics staring up at me, mocking me with their deliberate distance from the laundry basket.