This is the third time I've gotten up for water. I'm not thirsty. The glass just gives my hands something to do besides hold the phone.
The kitchen tile is cold and I stand there longer than it takes to drink. The fridge hums. A car passes and the light slides across the ceiling and is gone.
I keep telling myself I'll sleep after this one. I said that an hour ago. The truth is I don't want to lie back down and listen to myself think. Standing here, half-awake, nothing is being decided. That's the part I like.
I rinse the glass and leave it in the rack. Then I get back in bed and stare at the same patch of dark, and I already know I'll be up again in twenty minutes.