The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are too tired to try hard — for jet lag

The story, in full

The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left.

Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. There is nothing left on the list for today.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your hands be completely still.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

The radiator clicks once as it cools down. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building.

Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. There is nothing left on the list for today.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building.

Notice how you're sitting. Adjust if you need to. Then settle again. If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point.

Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let the mattress take all of it.

Let the quiet be boring. Just the breath.

Stay with the weight of your body. Slower. Let the dark be ordinary.

Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. The words can start to blur now.

Too tired to try hard is exactly the right amount of tired for this.

Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.

21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.