I am sleepy. Night has settled in. I am up later than most nights. This is quiet time of another sort. Soon I will (most likely) sleep. Will I wake restless, later? I don’t know. Will I struggle to find sleep in the first place? It doesn’t seem likely to be the case, but it’s possible. It wouldn’t even be uncommon. I have challenges with getting sufficient healthy restful sleep. (I type those words and a yawn splits my face and fills my eyes with tear drops that wet my lashes but don’t fall.) I contemplate a shower before bed to rinse off the sweat and sunscreen – it would feel lovely.

I notice a bug bite on the back of my hand and wonder “when did that happen?”, then also notice that the sun has warmed my skin with a bit of a glow, but has also made some irregularities in pigmentation a bit more obvious. Signs of aging. I smile and shrug it off as unimportant – or at least uninteresting. It’s been a hell of an interesting week, so far, and fussing over texture or pigmentation of my hands seems rather pointless, honestly. I find myself fighting sleep as I listen to music my Traveling Partner shared with me. The music is Dvořák. The featured cellist is Jacqueline du Pré. The year the video was recorded is listed as 1968. The music sounds familiar. Why wouldn’t it? It’s Dvořák. lol

The last notes die away and leave me with this quiet. It’s a lovely quite moment before I end the day with sleep. I am sleepy.

Tomorrow I can begin again.