My body refused, like an overactive child, to settle down last night. At midnight I finally had shut the lights out and begun to burrow down under the covers. Many people at that time would have been sound asleep, I suppose, some blissfully having entered into that coma-like state, called "REM."
I awoke suddenly, like someone does before jumping out of bed after hitting his snooze button ten times, realizing he's overslept and is late for work. I grabbed my little white digital alarm clock and pressed down hard on the button that turned on the light. I thought sure I would see black-colored numbers, indicating it was 5:00, or thereabouts, illuminated by the dull yellow glow. I groaned at the realization that I'd only slept two hours. I threw my head back onto the pillow. I spent the next few minutes, or hours, it seemed, trying to find the ultimate "sleep well" position.
On my back; on my left side; on my right side; arms up around my ears; left arm up next to my left ear while my right arm is down by my right side; on my stomach. On my side; one leg bent towards my chest; fluff up my pillows; roll one pillow up and put it between my shoulders and my head. It was a veritable nocturnal workout, or should I say warfare. This fight between my desire to sleep and my body's restlessness continued on and on. Until finally, that welcome paralysis; that heaviness. The conquered limbs lay defeated and weary, and I could feel that wonderful haze coming over my mind, gradually, like I'd imagined it must feel like to be anesthetized. Sleep.