I don’t know how long I laid there wrapped up in that quilt, hanging somewhere between sleep and feelin’ sorry for myself. Truth be told, I didn’t have a lot of experience with feelin’ sorry for myself—not like being hoppin’ mad, or feeling like I’d come out of my skin if I didn’t try something. Those were plenty familiar. Feelin’ sorry was a place for babies and wienies. I wished I could just go to sleep for a long time, but sleep wouldn’t settle in.
