My double shot of espresso this morning failed to get me as alert as I am now, waiting to fall asleep. My heartbeat echoes through the bones in my toes, and I can trace the pulse as it charges through my brain. The jaw muscle on the right side of my face tightens into a solid, unmovable block, and the left one will join in some number of minutes (I don't like looking at the time on nights like this). The clocks in my room tick like a syncopated 80s song, an obnoxious means of getting me to acknowledge the approaching dawn.
I flip the light on to try to read, and exhaustion wraps itself around my spine. It takes the headboard and all of my strength to keep my head at a useful angle. Muscles I thought for certain I had stopped using after my short-lived swimming career start screaming and throbbing.
At the early stages of the night my thoughts were of work. Of the future. Of what I don't want to be and of what I might want to be. They took a turn to you about half-way through the worst of it. That's when things got really confusing. (A fair representation.)
At some point I'll be so tired that I stop storing memories, and when I wake up in the morning, I won't have any recollection of when I actually fell asleep. It's a cruel joke, to not understand which thought I was having that finally allowed for peace.