Sleep story: an attic room, when you have been on screens all day — for the hours after a late shift

The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table. The room is in the roof, and the ceiling slopes so steeply that you have to duck near the window. 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. The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement. A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked.

Let the mattress take all of it. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den. The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house.

Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today. If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there.

Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.

Let your breathing do the rest. Let the quiet be boring.

Almost nothing to do now. Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let the room get slightly further away.

After a day of screens, the eyes and the shoulders need this first.

The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.