Where Sleep Lives

It’s about 5:30 in the morning and I’ve just hung up from that weekly Friday conference call. Following a fitful night’s sleep… Well, I can’t even call it a night’s sleep. The last time I remember looking at the clock it was 2:30 and the alarm began sparking at 4:30. It was the quality of sleep you get on an airplane, in coach, on an international flight – pasty, dry-eyed, grumpy. Thank God Ed’s staying at LB’s. At least only one of us remained awake with my tossing and turning and swollen thoughts that hemorrhage into the space where sleep lives.