Sleep seems secondary; it so often escapes me. The second hand ticks by, set to the atomic clock in Colorado.
Up and down; back to bed for the second time. Second trip to the bathroom. Second glass of water will mean third trip to the bathroom.
Second time firing up lap-top to work on posts. Second time clicked publish on two short pieces.
Stuck, for second time, on moving a story forward based on a Microfiction Challenge. Travelers may never get home.
Wait, a second. I can post without guilt (or pretending I’m on Australian time) because it’s Saturday, but not the second Saturday in July.
“Who’s on first, What’s on second, and I Don’t Know is on third.” Abbott & Costello