Toasty warm, curled up in a soft womb of a blanket, I speak in clichés.
No thought of mine has never been expressed a thousand times before.
Yet, overwhelmingly, I am compelled to speak.
Words, ideas, are formed in my lungs and forced past my teeth without my consent.
I bind the downy blanket to myself, wrapping my ever-shrinking body tighter and tighter, in a worthless effort to stifle my breath.
This home remedy seems to lack potency however, and only creates a slight ache in my bent joints.
Taking a hint from ancient medicine, I turn to bloodletting next.
Method number two apparently has the opposite effect, and my utterances strengthen and become rushed.
I abandon the latest plan.
Cautiously, a hand creeps out from beneath the warmth and braves the cold plastic of the tuner.
I am overwhelmed sharply with a shrill cacophony from the frozen speakers, but my fingers move quickly and soon it is subtle and calming.
My breathing slows, the contents of my mind not thrust through my clamped lips with so much force, and eventually my eyes collapse.