Lesley Boland #4 Spinning and spinning

The leather cushions are cold but soft, and  warm gradually to body temperature under my heavy torso.  Where my body doubles back on itself - the inside of my legs pressed together, where my upper arms lie snug against my ribs - I feel benign warmth. At the extremities - fingers, toes, bare skin exposed to air - it is cool, but not so much it will keep me awake. Just enough to know entropy.

Everyone chases sleep here. A mirage of rest and replenishment to which tired bodies lurch. Every day loads deficit. Every sleep leaves one more parched. In the meantime: let the unwashed laundry pull us back from the brink; let next week's meals not become unstuck from routine; let our proud responsibilities keep us safe.