It's Sunday night.
The weekend is winding down.
And Monday is already...
sort of knocking on the door.
Running through tomorrow in your head?
You're not the only one.
Lots of people do this on Sundays.
Checking the calendar one more time.
Counting the hours of sleep left.
So let's take six minutes.
And give tonight back to you.
Pull the blanket up...
wherever you like it.
Let your head settle into the pillow.
your eyes close...
if that feels okay.
Outside, the crickets are going.
They're not about worried Monday.
They don't even know what Monday is.
Let their sound be the background.
Let's check in with your body.
Where does Monday live right now?
Maybe a tightness...
right under your collarbones.
Or a restless hum in your legs.
The urge flip to the pillow.
Just notice it.
You don't have to fix it.
Your mind is rehearsal.
running a For a day that hasn't started.
It thinks worrying hard tonight...
will make Monday go better.
It doesn't really work that way.
Monday gets handled on Monday.
By the you who got some sleep.
A hand on your chest, if you want.
Breathe in slowly.
Let your chest rise under your hand.
And breathe out.
Long and slow.
Now move your hand to your belly.
Breathe in...
and feel it get round and full.
And out...
that tight spot loosening a little.
One more.
In...
And out.
Now picture a small piece of paper.
And a pen.
Maybe a yellow sticky note.
Or an old grocery receipt...
from your jacket pocket.
Write down tomorrow's list.
Everything your mind keeps poking at.
The nine o'clock meeting.
Picking up the dry cleaning.
Remember to pack a lunch.
Call the dentist back.
Get it all on there.
Even the small stuff.
If it's taking up space in your head...
it goes on the note.
Your handwriting can be messy.
Nobody else is going to read it.
It just has to leave your head.
Something too big to fit?
Write just one word for it.
You'll know what it means tomorrow.
Now fold it in half.
And fold it again.
Small enough for your palm.
Reach over...
set nightstand.
it on the Right there by the lamp.
Next to your glass of water.
Then take your hand back.
Let it rest on the blanket.
The note isn't going anywhere.
In the morning...
you'll unfold it at the kitchen table.
Rested.
One line at a time.
But not tonight.
Tonight, the list is on the nightstand.
And you're in bed.
Notice your hands...
with nothing in them.
Your chest might have more room now.
If your mind wanders back to the list...
tell it, gently...
It's already written down.
I don't need to hold it.
Picture the nightstand now.
Just the lamp...
and a small folded note.
Nothing left to plan tonight.
Your shoulders are heavy.
Your hands are still.
Your chest is soft.
Your belly rises...
and falls.
Just the crickets.
Breathing in...
And out...
Monday can wait for the morning.
The lamp is off.
The whole house is asleep.
Let the crickets have the last word.
Goodnight.