On Borrowed Sleep and an Unhurried Day

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoThe night before had been thin on rest — the phone seeing to that, as it does, with a series of calls from the hospital that fragmented the dark into useless pieces. There is a particular fatigue that follows a broken night on call, a sort of low static behind everything, and I carried it into the morning like an unwelcome companion.

The round itself was mercifully quiet, which felt like a small mercy granted in compensation. I was nearly out the door, congratulating myself on a clean exit, when a transfer landed — the universe's way of reminding me not to count my chickens. I noted it, made the necessary arrangements, and then, with the practised detachment one develops, simply got on with my own business. The admission would arrive when it arrived. There is no sense standing guard over a thing you cannot hurry.

Lunch was ramen at Lot 10, that reliable warren of food where one can always find a steaming bowl of something restorative. A good ramen asks very little of a tired man — no decisions beyond which broth, no conversation if you'd rather not — and gives back warmth and a brief, soup-induced clarity. It was exactly what the day required.

Afterwards I wandered into Low Yat, where the electronics live, and emerged with an e-ink tablet — the iFLYTEK AiNote Air 2. I have a weakness for these things, the quiet promise that this device, finally, will be the one to organise my scattered notes into something resembling order. I know better, of course. But the screen is easy on tired eyes, and there is a small joy in the unboxing that I refuse to deny myself.

Anita, meanwhile, had a wedding to attend in Shah Alam with her friends — the sort of cheerful afternoon obligation that sends her off in good spirits and leaves me happily to my own devices. So I went home and did the most sensible thing available: nothing in particular. I chilled, half an ear cocked for word of the admission, the e-ink tablet keeping me mildly entertained while I waited.

Dinner was a quick one at Kerinchi, the kind of unfussy meal that suits an evening when ambition has long since clocked off. I had no appetite for anything elaborate, only for something easy and nearby, eaten without ceremony.

And then, at last, rest — the thing the whole day had been quietly building towards. After a night so generously interrupted, an early surrender to sleep was less a choice than a biological necessity. I find I have stopped feeling guilty about these collapses into bed; the body keeps its own accounts, and it had a debt to settle.

So a modest day, all told. A quiet round, a transfer to absorb, ramen and a new gadget, an empty afternoon well spent, and a simple dinner to close it. Not every Sunday needs steak and grandeur. Some just need a soft pillow and a phone that stays silent. Tonight, I'm hoping for both.