I’ve never been one to get to bed early. “Early,” for me, would be 1130pm or so. I don’t have one of those “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” mentalities, I can just always find something better to do. I can be absolutely exhausted all day at work, planning on going to sleep early, and I’ll end up dragging my ass to bed around 130am. There’s always a book to read, or a show/movie to watch.
It’s just a complete lack of regard for morning.
I think it’s my way of resisting against the whole “get up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to bed” cycle. I’d rather be tired after an evening of doing shit that makes me happy than be fully-rested at work the next day. All the good stuff happens after dark.
Come on, we’ve all had sick days – glued to the couch for an entire day of God-awful daytime television, at which point we’re almost thinking that sticking it out at work would have been a less-boring option. Thank God for Netflix.
The evening is my time. When I go home, I can do as little or as much as I want. This is coupled with my love for living alone, but pitted directly against my desire for a family.
Point? This post doesn’t really have one. I’ve had a bit of a headcold for a few days now – stuffy nose that won’t unstuff, not much of an appetite except for sleep, etc. Today, my eyes are dilated and taking in too much information, so it causes me them to water and me to blink. I could honestly sit and stare off into space all day today. Hence, this post.
Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by. 