Is it a coincidence that the word "present" and "gift" are interchangeable? I still have tendrils of what it feels like to be rested, truly, in body and mind, and I'm doing my best to not so much hold onto them because that holding on is contrary to what it feels like, but to call them up like gods or portents or totems. In the history of sleep, I am sound, a read-for-several-hours-in-bed-at-night, watch the words fall off the page, turn off the light, roll to my side, close my eyes and -- when? how? -- sleeper. I never toss or turn or struggle. I wake, awake, a brain in full motion, always, always projected outward, the present underneath me, white and rumpled, my heavy body in the way.