I won’t submit to sleep. I want it to overtake me. I want it to make me powerless. I want sleep to assail me, in the dark, to pin me, to rock me. I don’t surrender. I wait for it to take me. But sleep, it seems, is powerless.

I understand, in these moments, why people don’t like me. I am impetuous, demanding answers of the Universe and her inhabitants. I don’t relent. I only tug at the coat sleeve. Maybe in these hours, I rehearse the things I feel I shouldn’t say. Maybe my body won’t let me sleep until I get it just right. Maybe my body hasn’t caught on; I’ll never let it say those things. And I’ve got to sleep sometime. Someone’s got to cave. Who will it be? Me? or me?

My clock says 7:02AM. The sun has fully risen. There is a dull pulling behind my eyes, the polite knocking of slumber. Why won’t he come in and take me by force? What is he afraid of?