A quilt can be comforting or suffocating. So, too, the night. The blanket of darkness draws its protective folds around me, ensconcing me between aggravations of a day just ended and hassles of the day to follow. Night is the creator of a personalized cocoon for the mind to repose, the body to recharge. Its embrace, though, can stifle the will-power which is necessary to answer a 4.30am wake up call. I struggle to throw off this quilt or to squirm out of its smothering warmth.