Late/Early
The cat can sleep through and on anything. I am jealous of him. On the futon where I am reading a Best American Short Stories collection, the insomnia back, his haunches are on my lap, his head face-down into the pillow, his sides twitching with dream.

It is January at three in the morning and right now I am: annoyed by a song stuck in my head, alone, insecure and missing friendships I've lost.
When you can’t sleep sometimes you just have to give in to it. You just have to be awake.