And now I'm beginning to feel so drained and tired that I don't think I can move. I don't even wash my hands and face, I just curl up on the floor and close my eyes, and my eyelids start to get heavy and I can't open my eyes any more. I wonder if when I wake up will I be on my futon, and how nice it will be if I am. I remember a long time ago, maybe before I could have any memories, so it could be a memory that I made up, someone like my dad, when I was half-asleep, picking me up and rocking me and laying me down on my soft futon, and it feels like a real memory that comes back to me at times like this, and maybe tomorrow morning I will find myself tucked up in my futon. I know it's not going to happen, still I think about it because it feels like I am remembering my dad. I hear myself mumbling, Did you bring me here when I was sleepy? I realize that I am speaking to my dad who isn't here, but he must be here somewhere. And I remember the sensation of being in his arms as I fall asleep with my head on the zabuton.

— Ms Ice Sandwich by Mieko Kawakami (Page 70 - 71)