The sun, streaming through my open window, clashes with my mirror and sends it's reflected rays into the darkness of my cluttered room.  I squint through the thick frames of my glasses at the sudden brighness.  As I gaze around at my piles and various heaps of books and clothing, I notice that the light touches everything....except for me.  There is a stack of Emily Dickenson and Jane Austen novels blocking the way.  GOOD!  

I lazily climb down from my perch and I walk over to the window.  Asi I step near it, the brightness engulfs my face.  I quickly slam the window shut and I drape a makeshift curtain over it.  This is very dangerous.  Without the window open I won't be able to hear the busyness of the streets below, and without the noise I will be very vulnurable to daydreaming.  

As I make my way back over to my perch, (the nest I made myself out of discarded blankets, scarves, and pillows), I catch a glimpse of a figure in the mirror.  I move in closer so I can steady myself.  First, I stare at my droopy profile.  I have bunches of red pimples, some of which are shooting puss.  Starting at the corners of my mouth, I have deep creases from frowning.  Seeing them just makes me frown more which I'm sure angers them, so they just go on deepening their course.  My lips are molded in a slight downward curve.  They are pale and anything but full.  My eyes are next.  They are cold, and ugly, and gray.  All they are is a swirling hurricane with a black middle.  On my forehead are more of those stupid, red, swollen pimples.  They are like volcanoes, as I squeeze one, it explodes in a flow of puss.