The judge hasn't slept

Head tight. Mouth dry. Sleep that showed up and fixed nothing. Your mood is on the floor, and it's very convincing. A body this drained will grab relief from anywhere. And underneath it all, a voice is doing math. Is any of this working? Are you even built for it?

This morning is a judge with no sleep and a pounding headache. Nothing he rules on today stands. Short sleep and a dried out body can sink any mood on their own. The cigarette used to show up on mornings like this posing as the rescue. Food, water and time were doing the rescuing.

Adjourn court. Feed the defendant. Get something real in your stomach in the next five minutes. Toast, eggs, leftover rice, a banana, whatever's closest. Eat it sitting down, slowly. A shaky body reads every signal as an emergency. Feed it and it stops shouting.

God's already at work on the repairs. Your only job is to cooperate. Push every big conclusion about your life to this afternoon, when the judge has slept it off. Eat. Rest. You're not failing at this. You're running on empty, and you just started refilling. The urge came for a verdict. It got breakfast.