Man oh man oh man. I am tired. I tried to take Rumi’s advice this morning.* I woke up before dawn, wide awake and head spinning at 5am. I stretched and tried pressing different body parts against Andreas’ dead weight sleeping self. Butt against back. Belly against side. Head against arm. Leg against flank. I cycled through them all. There was to be no sleepy-by-proxy for me, though.

A: Meine.
A: Hmm.
A: I can’t sleep.
A: Huh. (Zzz…)
A: .

I figured that if I’d woken up, I might as well just get up. I must be rested, right? Despite not going to bed until 12:30 after an evening of beers and catching up with friends, if I wake up at 5am, I must have gotten enough sleep.

How wrong I was. No amount of tea in any color will keep the cobwebs out of my eyes. The wheels are still turning, the hampsters are still running, but there’s a haze around it.

*Rumi’s advice:

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.