What happens after I get out of bed

Some mornings are more interesting than others. Some mornings I put on my crown of elastic thorns. Most mornings I invent a shape that my body will trace through space. Which layers of reality will I chose to insert myself into, and which ones will I opt out of. My longings will define themselves according to the temperature of the light, to the amount of particles that are suspension in my mind and to the number of creatures that populate my microcosm.