Sometimes this town
Last night was a perfect night for sleeping. It was mild outside and there was a nice breeze blowing through my open window. My ceiling fan was turning in lazy circles. Also it was quiet, except, at one point, for the sound of a train passing by several miles away. My cat was purring up a storm by my side – and it was dark out, because it was a normal time to be going to bed: 11:00, rather than 9:00, since I didn’t have to be at work this morning at the usual pre-dawn time. Plus, I’d had a margarita a few hours prior followed by a nice walk around Decatur with a good friend.

If Old Man Insomnia has not made you a regular target in his cruel manipulations, maybe you don’t appreciate this, but to those of us for whom sleep is sometimes a battle, a night like last night was a rare gift. So exquisite, so lovely, I found myself wanting to cherish it, remember it -- to in fact, not waste it by sleeping.
And so, for a full hour I just lay there with Buddy Holly Danger Cat, feeling like I was at the beach--not sleeping, but enjoying the slant of the moon through the window. Then I started wondering if I’d fall asleep at all. And then it was morning.