You are not tired, because you are no longer technically awake. You are no longer aware of time. No longer right or wrong, there is no longer a you.

Your mouth, having lain dormant for hours, has a warm tang. The dull hum of computers lulls you comfortably like the steady beat that is all an embryo ever knows.

A feeling that can be sustained for hours, or days, as you move through the desaturated ebb of humanity in which you play no part.

There is a euphoric sense that you are progressing, moving forward, as you accomplish the task you are performing. You are engrossed in the process of creating, and you bend your entire existence towards this feat. Your conciousness has shifted forward to your eyes and your hands.

And then the phone rings. You could perhaps quicken your conciousness, drag it back into the world, but lack the inclination. Sentences are difficult to form, and the yabbering coming down the line is muted into the background. Something has been lost, but no emotion yet exists to encompass your reaction. Something is lost...

I spend a good deal of time in this state.