"You can't have my fear, I'm not getting out of here alive anyway"

Still night, though the ceiling fan is on, of course. The only light is the alarm clock, maybe a little city sky through the curtains. Lie still, slow breathing. Relax all muscles, let the mind drift. Let day's cares wear away. Sleep will come. Eventually.

Glance at the clock: a half hour has passed since the light went out, and sleep no closer. Don't sigh. Roll over, if needed.

Lie still, relax all muscles, one at a time. Try to think of nothing. Or try counting the wobbles of the fan.

Is the alarm really set to the dimmest setting? Yeah. Still feels like you could read to it. Maybe not. But the numbers are bright enough, you wouldn't trip over something even in the far corner. Flicker. Oh look, a digit changed.

Close the eyes. That's darker. Lie still, relax. Ignore the distant siren. Count the fan wobbles by fives.

Why do we have a green alarm clock, anyway? Shouldn't it be blue, to match the blue horrors of insomnia? Green is too perky. Check whether it's changed color. A half hour has passed. Don't sigh. Roll to face away from the clock.

Lie still. Count the fan wobbles by prime numbers. Tell a story about why it's important, with a cyber-ogre and a ticking bomb and -- no, that's too exciting. It's a code-breaking thing. Searching for patterns. SETI. A detector in interstellar space, with an AI slowly drifting. Slowly drifting off. By the time you've counted the first 24 primes (963) you will be ... still not asleep.

A half hour has passed. Don't cuss.

Give up for now -- go putter online for an hour.

And when you return, repeat from the start.

---L.