An attic room (a sleep story), if you have done this a hundred times — for a racing mind

The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den. There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years. The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood.

A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked. The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks. The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools. The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.

Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.

Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

Almost nothing to do now. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.

You do not have to count them. Just the breath. Let the quiet be boring.

If you have done this a hundred times, change one small thing tonight.

Let everything get quiet, including this.