Sleep story: an attic room, if you are doing this in the middle of the day — for an overtired night

A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked. The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement. The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks.

There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night. The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house. The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Your chest can be still now.

Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

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.

Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.

Your ankles can go loose now. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

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.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel your cheeks let go.

The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

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

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools. The room is in the roof, and the ceiling slopes so steeply that you have to duck near the window.

If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point. Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your ribs stop working so hard.

Let it all get further away. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.

Let the next part go past without you. Just the dark. Let the quiet be boring.

Almost nothing to do now. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. You can stop listening properly.

Midday is an underrated time for this.

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.