Stuck.

Is there a name for that place, that time between when you go to bed and then, finally, go to sleep? That place where it feels like you might have been awake forever but then something stirs you, like a puppy who needs to go out, now!, because she ate something strange and now has diarrhea, and you realize you've actually been asleep, but it doesn't feel like it-not one bit. It's a place where the mind can be busy or the body awake even though the eyes are shut and the desire for sleep, for real honest to goodness slumber, is so strong the idea of getting up, of reading, of anything other than that sweet sensation of drifting off is simply ridiculous.

I spent eternity in that very place last night. Not much was on my mind and it seemed impossible that my long day and hard hike wouldn't have helped the body toward tired. Still, I had a plan: to go to bed early, read a crappy story in The Sun (that wasn't in the plan exactly, but it is the way it worked out), and get a whole lot of sleep under my belt for what is going to be quite a week. I did drift off kind of quickly, as is my pattern, but then, having nothing to do with the puppy who was whining at the door first at 11 and then again at 1:30, I was awake.

The stars at 11 were fabulous and the moon at 1:30 was so silver it was well worth being out. I did think, too, "I'm sure glad it isn't snowing right now," and I startled when I heard the distinctive crunch of twigs and brush up on the hill. Thought you might want to know.

Where I'll feel this the most today is in the vocabulary part of my brain. I'll be searching for the simplest of words, you just watch. I'll go on auto pilot with certain clients if I don't keep myself on task. I'll choose riding my bike to work instead of walking. I'll make certain Mavis doesn't find any dead fish or godknowswhat to eat while we are on our evening walk. All due to spending too much time in the place where sleep is one part exactly what I want and equally just out of reach.

All in a day my friends, all in a day.