Sleep takes me like quicksand.
I feel it just closing over my head when I'm grabbed firmly by the shoulders and pulled back. Awake.
I lay on my side, breath pattern quick, listening for whatever sound had such a firm grip. Wondering which kid it was. Waiting for the stirrings to escalate into screaming. It does. {It always does.}
Back in my own bed, I pull the covers over my head, moonbathing on this shore. Sleep curls around my toes in frothy waves but recedes, recedes, recedes. The tide has changed.
When I finally slip into unconsciousness, its a hard fall. I don't dream. I don't move. I embody corpse pose in the deepest sense.
John's alarm sounds at the usual hour and he hits the snooze. Again. And again. I don't even hear it.
My consciousness is trained to respond to small voices, not incessant beeping. It's a good thing I work from home.
