important sleep.

the man on the train looked as if he had two large toes inside the back of his sneakers. he did not need to hold on to anything. his feet had the right shape to keep him standing even in the least favorable turns and track jumps. he was the one who picked up the pen that had been rolling around the floor since maybe 50th street. i pretended to sleep. it was a lame way of keeping my seat. and the seat was not even that great. it was the one in the middle of the bench. maybe it was yellow, maybe it was orange. it smelled. i should be sleeping now. there is a nice article in the last issue of hbr about sleep deprivation. it is a nice article because it is written to people who actually have the power to run a business. it is written in a way one would write to a parent who somehow wants to take care of her children but is not quite sure how. a parent who wants to take care of her children so other parents think she is the coolest parent. or maybe so her children become the best in the best of the best schools. and eventually take care of that pile of problems that was caused by getting them there in the first place. people should sleep. and one should not take redeye flights and then present. that leads to embarrassing situations. one should not fly over night and then drive. this can be deadly. there is a very well orchestrated dance of chemicals in our bodies that makes us want to sleep least at some time before we need to sleep. it is probably an energy boost to give us that kick needed to build a nest out of branches and leaves. today building such a nest would have been a tough task. it is quite cold. it might be even freezing outside. i bought a whole bunch of tea. a black box of prince of wales tea, as well as some round boxes with white tea. and i did not drink any of it. tomorrow. i also hope to feel a little better tomorrow. chewing on an olbas drop right now. it tastes a bit odd. it is probably supposed to taste that way. i will need to sleep now. maybe not dream of the man with the extra toes. what if i were a pen. does a pen ever know what drawing it puts down on paper? does a pen ever have the delusion that it is the carrier of the ideas jotted down? i wonder. ... lights out.