Walking into her dining room, she stops in the doorway. What exactly was she here for? Raising an eyebrow, she laughes it off, and walks away shaking her head.
Stepping into a new room this time, her bedroom, she sits at her desk with her laptop open and notices an almost empty draft in front of her. What exactly was she writing? Raising both eyebrows, she allows her head to fall into her hands, the way she herself fell onto the chair, and a sigh of defeat to escape her lips.
Venturing to a third room, the kitchen this time, she opens up a cupboard, before slowly shutting it again. What exactly was she planning on getting?
Finally, giving up, she heads outside, and collapses down on a sunbed. Sitting up suddenly, it all comes back to her. She was in her dining room to get her phone from the table, then she was going to write a German essay before grabbing a cereal bar from the kitchen.
This, she reminds herself, is what a sleep deprived brain does to her. Never again will she function on a mere hour of sleep. Of course, by the time another late evening has arrived she’ll likely have forgotten that vow, and will instead have to watch the small hours of the morning grow ever larger once more.