HARD SLEEP

I try for a sleep on the train. This I attempt as the track rises towards the darkness of the Remutaka tunnel. I stretch out my legs, arrange my arms loosely in my lap. The seats have slight wings which cup my head just enough that it slightly rocks with the rattle of steel wheels on steel rails. Eyes closed, I listen to the clack of those wheels, the snuffy whistle of others sleeping around me and, more often than not, I remain wide awake. Sometimes though, just sometimes, I emerge from the tunnel asleep, and midway through the Hutt Valley I wake up, feeling close to drowned. This sleep, too brief to provide any refreshment, leaves me half awake and wanting back into snoozeville for the rest of the day. I struggle on, foggy and unable to hold a thought, cowering from small talk, from all talk really. In this way, that brief nap on the train is the best predictor I have of a bad day, and yet I never stop attempting it, craving train sleep, the best I have discovered. Sleep is sleep, you may think,