I probably should take a shower. The sheets stick to my forearm for a moment. Ew, sticky. Yep, definitely should have showered before getting into bed. But Tasha is in the shower. I have been listening to the water running for the last twenty minutes. Why does she always take such long showers? For that matter, why is she taking a shower at 1:30 in the morning?

The air conditioner whirrs noisily, but I don’t feel any cooler. My skin is sticky with sweat and whatever other unidentified sauces and food bits ended up on it during the course of my shift tonight.

I reach blindly towards my phone – the alarm for tomorrow morning was set hours ago, long before I lay in bed. The clock reads 1:38. The water from the shower in the next room continues to run. My alarm is set for 9:00 am. I will most likely hit snooze until 9:30. Maybe 9:40 if I continue to lie awake for much longer. No. Shower. I need to get up with the alarm to take a shower.

I close my eyes, trying in vain to silence my inner monologue. Get to work by 10am, write up the day’s specials, check to make sure we still have tartar sauce – ew, tartar sauce. Ew, ew, ew, I really hope the mysterious substance on my arm isn’t tartar sauce.

My thoughts are disrupted not by the slumber I so desperately crave, but by the sound of an animal scratching at my door. Ugh, Luna, I was just about to fall asleep! (I really wasn’t.) I amble out of the bed and open the door to the happy panting of the golden retriever. Well that makes one of us.

The bed creaks as I flop back on top of my comforter in a typically ungraceful manner. I click the home button on my phone again; 1:43. If I fall asleep right now I can sleep for seven hours and – I count backwards in my head, I can sleep for seven hours and seventeen minutes.

The springs on Luna’s bed make jarring squeaking noises as she circles around the mattress, settling in for a sleep that will no doubt come sooner and be more restful than my own. The bed continues to squeak ominously. It sounds as though it is about to give out at any moment is what it sounds like. Why did I think giving the dog a human bed was a good idea?

The water has stopped running. I am met with my sister’s unmistakable stomps as she exits the bathroom. Her footsteps thunder down the hall causing the metal photo frames on my dresser to shake and rattle. Just one of the many charms of our two-hundred-fifty-year old house. Then there is the piercing squeal of Tasha’s bedroom door. More nineteenth century charm.

I should take a shower. Maybe some cool water will help calm me down, help settle my racing thoughts. I maneuver myself so my head hangs off of the foot of my bed. I stare at the plastic stars on the ceiling that used to illuminate my childhood room. Now they are nothing more than yellowed plastic, the glow in the dark pigment long since deteriorated.

Luna lets out a snore that could rival that of a 300-pound lineman. Damnit, not only is she asleep in record time, but now I have her night noises to contend with, certainly not the sounds you might find on a Spotify ‘sleepytime mix.’

It had been busy at the restaurant, but not unmanageable. Just busy and hot and sweaty and smelly. My feet hurt. I think about how in – I check my phone again, 1:46, seven hours and fourteen minutes, I will be back on my feet. They will still be sore when I wake up. Summer means my heels never fully recover.

The woman who sat outside and sent her food back was right, the steak was overcooked. It looked disgusting. The creepy man who left me no tip was also disgusting. Oh my god, I never got that family their side of ranch! Ugh, the movies always make summer at the beach sound like a nonstop party. Where was my summer fling? My late night bonfires?

Then the worst sound, they were back, right on schedule. Who skateboards up and down the same hundred feet of road at two in the morning? And on a Thursday no less?! The noise of the wheels skidding along the pavement makes my blood boil. It always sounds as though they are directly under my bedroom window. When I had first heard these hooligans two summers ago I thought someone was trying to break into the house. Everything is louder when the rest of the world is asleep.

The screen of my phone lights up to display 1:50. It is taunting me. I can get seven hours and ten minutes of sleep. If I hit snooze and don’t shower I can probably get an extra twenty minutes. No, I have to, have to take a shower. My personal hygiene always takes a turn for the worse in the summer months, the long days and short nights not getting any easier to manage, as I get older.

I stuff my too warm pillow over my head in an effort to block out the skateboarders and let out a long yawn. Some day I will give these faceless nightriders a piece of my mind. My eyes fly open and I groan as I remember that it is Sunday. If today is Sunday that makes tomorrow Monday. I have to pick up paychecks from Charlie, the accountant in the morning. I hastily change my alarm so it will wake me up even earlier. My 8:30 alarm carries the welcoming descriptor “wake up or you will be fired.” Lovely.

Do I have any clean socks for tomorrow? Can I squeeze in enough time in the morning to stop for a bagel and an iced coffee? I’ll definitely need the caffeine, maybe even more than I need a shower.

I slam my phone harshly and squint through the dark to just make out 2:02. If I fall asleep right now and wake up at 8:30 I can get six hours and thirty eight minutes… no, not thirty eight… twenty eight, yes, twenty eight. Six hours and twenty eight minutes…maybe… maybe more if…