4:37.

It happens almost every night.

4:37am, my eyes pop open, and I am immediately, irrevocably, awake.

I've no idea what wakes me up, but there I am.

My mind starts racing, followed by my heart. I lie awake, trying desperately to slow everything down so that I can get back to sleep.

I check the clock. I get up and go to the bathroom. I check the clock again. I lay down and try to regain some of my stolen blankets. I sigh. I check the clock again. I play tetris in my head. This reminds me of when Beege was a baby. Which reminds me that neither of them are babies anymore. I wonder what they will be like when they are grown. I wonder if I can keep them safe until they get there. I wonder if I can let them go. I wonder if they will come back. I wonder if I am good enough.

The good thoughts are getting eaten by the bad ones, and I try to distract myself.

Eventually, I start writing in my head.

Text appears across my eyelids as though I'm typing it on a screen. The letters disappearing and reappearing as ideas change shape. I can tell I'm starting to fall asleep when the words become animals. They start wiggling off the page and confusing the issue. Middle of the night brilliance; lost in the jungle.

Every sound pops my eyelids back open. And if I don't shut them again quickly enough, my heart starts thumping, and I need to start the whole process over.

Fast forward to 7:37. I am supposed to get up now. This is when people are supposed to be up. I have things to do. GET UP!

I hit snooze now, and fall back into a deep slumber. I register the pale morning sunlight, and avert my eyes as I sink back into the pillow. My body is so heavy that it feels wrong to try and move.