Will be an accompanying image...
...but I probably need to draw it before I can post it, sorry.
He rises from his bed, after lying for what seems like an hour but has more likely been several, and allows the quilt, which before had so effortlessly mirrored the peaceful cosmos a few miles above him, to lie crumpled and discarded on the floor. He looks down at it, feigning pity, trying not to notice that he’s only wearing one sock because the other, which did not match in any case, is now awaiting collection by a maternal figure as it sits dejected a small distance away from the dirty linen basket stained in the blood of his dog who spent the latter half of the afternoon befouling the air by coating his injury in saliva.
He turns to the window and gazes out seeing the still lit rooms of those across the street and a sole streetlight infinitely reflected in the gleaming metal and glass that makes up the neighbour’s car. His eyes switch focus to his reflection in the glass, momentarily admiring the muscles on his chest before realising that the only illumination in the room is a lava lamp, that increasingly swiftly becomes the temperature of molten rock, and the small pixels of light blue and green that hypnotically flow across his monitor in an endless loop: which causes the areas of shadow and light to tighten the distant contours on his torso. He sighs and sits down on the swivel chair which has managed to get its wheel caught on a discarded piece of paper that was probably something important and still is, but if he doesn’t read it then it might as well not exist for its intended purpose, but only to make the act of sitting down slightly more hazardous, but not hazardous enough to arrange an incident of any real comedic value. He utters a previously amusing but now overused profanity and places one hand on the mouse, the other on his keyboard.
He stares blankly at the screen for a couple of minutes before the screensaver again kicks in shunting him out of his stupor and causing him to jerk the cursor, shattering the hypnotism. He ties his hair back in anticipation (his hair being long enough to cause small children at the stage in life where men should have short quiffs and wear blue and play football and women should wear short pink skirts and very pale magenta tights and have long blond hair that many would compare to a shower of gold, which indeed it resembles, to look round and snigger, but not long enough to make him attractive) and immediately opens "Word", typing the first sentence of a short story. He pauses and reads it back to himself. Something vaguely exciting is happening that the reader won’t fully understand that he can then elaborate on, setting him up for a very long description of the surroundings which have probably been cleaved rather ineptly from Tolkien. He closes the program and sighs.
Rising from the chair he takes one step across to his bed and clumsily sits down on it, staring down at the crumpled cosmos as he attempts to remove the feeling of someone tuning his brain like a guitar purely through concentration. He thinks very precisely and slowly in his mind, as if instructing a particularly stupid child, not to stand up so quickly.
He removes the hair tie and slips it over his wrist, inadvertently pinning several stray hairs helplessly to his arm, and rocks backwards a little way.
Sighing, he reaches down and grabs two of the four corners of the cosmos and rather dramatically swings them over the bed, expertly swivelling and laying down. A stinging cry of shock at this sudden manhandling rings out across the room, and no doubt the entire household, which is followed up by quieter cries of varying pitch. Eventually the noise dies down and the shadows across the ceiling stop dancing.