One morning

He's asleep, but he's beginning to wake up. He's aware of his mothers voice down the hall yelling out to his littler sister, he can hear the clatter off the cutlery as his father washes up the breakfast dishes, but he's not really entered into reality yet. He's somewhere in the middle. In a few moments he might drop off again, entering a land created by his subconscious, but instead something triggers him to open one eye, and reality comes flooding in and tears him away from his semi-concious state. He rolls over in an attempt to fall asleep again, but he knows sleep has escaped his grasps, every second he becomes more aware of his surroundings. A bird whistles, his ceiling fan squeaks like a metronome every third of a second. His eyes are closed again, but even the blackness he sees can't block out the reality he feels. He sighs. He opens his eyes, closes them again, rubs away the sleep and sits up. He wonders why he's feeling excited. Suddenly he's wide awake, remnants of the dream he was having are bouncing around inside his head. He tries to grab a hold of the feelings, but all they offer are vague snapshots of his dreamy landscapes and pathetic excuses for emotions he knew he must have felt only minutes ago. He sits there thinking hard, aching for something to click, but everything is just out of reach. He gets mad, and after a few more seconds void of success he gives up, and the last little bits of the dream onto which he was holding fly out his ears and are forgotten forever. He sighs again. It's late morning. The day is about to begin in earnest.