Even when the air conditioning breaks in the middle of August I can’t sleep without a blanket. To feel swaddled enough to slip into that vulnerable state. Unless it was truly crucial, evolution would have done away with sleep centuries ago. Lion cubs stolen from their mothers’ dens, soldiers’ throats sliced in foxholes–all under the light of the moon. I slept so much as a baby my parents worried. Sometimes, still, after I jump into the deep end, I let myself drift for a second, or two, my feet above my head–I am merely a blurry projection on a screen, an idea in your head, a something of the future. Support her neck when you hold her–pretending I am safe again.