An attic room (a sleep story), when you have been meaning to start — for jet lag

There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years. The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops. The room is in the roof, and the ceiling slopes so steeply that you have to duck near the window.

The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement. The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table. The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den.

Let your hands be completely still. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your ribs stop working so hard.

A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked. The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your palms open if they were closed.

The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood. There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night.

Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table. The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Your ankles can go loose now.

The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood. There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years.

If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too. Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking.

Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

Softer. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.

Just the breath. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. You do not have to count them.

Nothing needs deciding tonight. Slower. Let your breathing do the rest.

You have been meaning to start. This is the least intimidating way in.

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.