That day, couple of years ago, Lez looked at my sleepy eyes and told me, "You don't know how lucky you are to sleep so easily." I gave him a blank stare in return. He was another victim of the graveyard shift and I a student, a laid back one at that. Among others, working 36-48 hours non-stop was his record breaking feat. And I would think it was inhuman to make my friend work during the night and sacrilege that he himself feels it is a super-human feat.

Blessing was Lez' metaphor for sleep. Today, I work only during the day, but I stretch them to the other hemisphere everyday. Sometimes with work, sometimes ...coz I have nothing better to do. But every night, when I hear the slightest of noises, know when the fans pass out, sense Nag's sleepy movement and hear the neighbor's kid cry at 2 am, I realize I've flown a little away from the blessing.

I close my eyes, again. Sheep jump the fence and then stop in their tracks wondering why. I move to the next image. Nothing. Too much chaos in the silence. Pray. My prayers jumble up with my messed schedule today, flashes of faces... what's the next line in the prayer? Mercy? Sleep? or Amen?