A Restful Night of Sleep


I need to be mentally and physically sharp for a big day tomorrow. I’m in bed and lights out at 10:32, but I’m thinking about tomorrow’s schedule and so I don’t fall asleep until sometime near midnight. A dream not worth recounting. Awake. Tossing. I only use eight of the twelve phrases that “socially intelligent people use to make an instant connection.” I should be better than that. The outdoor lights our neighbors illuminate all night are annoying. I pull the shade down three more inches. I can’t figure out how to prevent Spotify from automatically playing music every time I start the car. I put in five minutes of deep and steady breathing. A dream I don’t dare recount, except to myself. I perseverate over its meaning but it was so surreal the meaning remains elusive despite my most focused attention for the next . . . maybe forty-five minutes—I don’t dare look at the clock. Asleep again. Awake. Must be about time for my alarm to go off so I check the clock and it’s 2:30. I’m having trouble understanding a friend who I believe insulted me. Or did I insult them? Should she be a marketing executive or an attorney? Does it make sense that she’s so pissed off at her husband? How can I make it more plausible? Should that kiss lead to another scene between the two of them? Left side, but I don’t like facing that direction. Right side, but that hurts my shoulder. Back, but I can never fall asleep that way. Onto my stomach. A dream that scurries away the moment I wake up again. I have to remember to send Kaitlyn that email. I should have done it today. The executive summary needs to be shorter by a third. I meant to call and reschedule my appointment. Now I might get charged for it. Maybe I should try a sleeping tincture next time. Come on, sleep. Relax. Sleep. Dreamless, dreamless. Now it’s 4:30, a terrible hour. Some kind of animal is making a noise outside. That can’t be Pumpkin, but it could be some animal killing our cat. Why did they wait until third down to throw the ball? That was such a stupid sequence. 4:52. It’s over. There will be no more sleep. Up I am. It’s even too early for the programmed coffee maker to kick on. I flick the switch and wait as if kneeling before an altar. I’m very refreshed. I have a big day today.

By David Klein

David Klein

Published novelist, creative writer, journalist, avid reader, discriminating screen watcher.


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