Air foggy and cool

Air foggy and cool
Clock tick tock tick tocks slowly
Tired bloated body

There’s a strange stillness that comes with a first night shift. Not silence exactly—machines hum, footsteps echo, tasks keep stacking up—but something in the air feels paused, like the world outside has taken a breath and forgotten to let it go.

Tonight, the fog has settled in thick and low. It wraps itself around everything, softening edges, muting distance. Even through the windows, you can feel it—cool, heavy, unmoving. It matches the way my mind feels. Not sharp, not clear. Just… there.

It’s my first night shift, and time isn’t behaving the way it normally does. The work is steady, demanding even, yet the clock drags its feet. Each minute seems to stretch, as if it’s resisting being counted. Tick, tock. Tick… tock. The rhythm is there, but it feels off-beat, like it’s out of sync with everything else.

My body isn’t helping much either. There’s a weight to it tonight. Bloated, sluggish, tired in that deep, quiet way that doesn’t shout but lingers. Movements feel slower, heavier, like I’m working through something thicker than air. Even small things take a little more effort than they should.

What stands out most is the contrast. The past few days felt lighter somehow—clearer, easier to sit in. There was a sense of calm, maybe even a bit of quiet happiness. Tonight feels different. Not bad, just… dulled. Like someone’s turned the brightness down a notch.

But maybe that’s part of it. Not every moment needs to feel light to be meaningful. Sometimes it’s just about noticing where you are—foggy air, slow clocks, a tired body—and letting it be what it is without trying to push it away.

The shift will end. The fog will lift. Energy will come back around.

For now, it’s just this moment:

cool air,

a slow clock,

and a body asking for patience.