Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, when your attention is scattered — for jet lag

The story, in full

There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday. Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all.

The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another.

Your ankles can go loose now. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter.

Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.

Let the mattress take all of it. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Slower now.

Softer. Just the weight. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.

Scattered attention is the raw material, not an obstacle.

The end. Sleep well.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.