It is the middle of the night. It is almost 2am. It is dark. It is dark outside, and it is dark inside. I am in my pajamas. I am in my bed. My bed is a pull-out couch. My hair is in a ponytail. The covers are twisted, and I can’t find the sheet. The only light is coming from my computer screen, and the crack underneath the door. My left shoulder hurts. This happens when I have been having too many asthma attacks. THIS happens when I don’t have medical insurance to get Singulair. My toenails are red, and my fingernails are red. It is quiet. The only noise is coming from my fingers typing. I am cross-legged. I am slumped forward. I am not alone in my bed. I am sharing it with my cell phone, my big red leather bag, my inhaler, a book called “The True and Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters,” two pillows, and a Princeton sweatshirt. I should turn on a lamp. But why? I am thinking about something very personal. I’m not going to tell you what. My left foot is asleep. Now if only my whole self would follow.