No Need to Count Sheep

I sleep easily. Sometimes, too easily. I use coffee to maintain the fragile equilibrium between the living and the dead. To keep awake, I remind myself, is not to keep a wake.

I can survive on four good hours of sleep. I feel awkward and fatigued if I sleep more than six. Somewhere in between is the golden mean of pillowed fruitfulness.

Sometimes I stay awake, only to realise that I am asleep. Sometimes I wake up, only to find that I have been doing work, and that a complete stranger has written a thousand words.

This post was written while asleep. A sleep.