In bed under the covers at 11:06am

Morning.
A time for worry,
when the dog's weight on blanketed feet feels so confining.

No amount of pulling will
raise the neatly tucked sheets
over my head.

Yes, my eyes are open.
No, I am not awake.
But I am not sleeping.

I am worrying.

Worrying over my worrying.
A vicious cycle.
And I am pinned beneath the comforter
like a teddy bear who is missing his button eyes.