Ashley Peterson
Jul 22 · 1 min read

Hint: It starts with bedtime

From the image, you might think my favourite time of day would be my child’s bedtime, but you’d be wrong.

I am childless. I am single. I have the bed all to myself. And it’s a wonderful thing.

The day exists so bedtime can happen. The day is propelled inexorably towards its culmination, its crowning glory, that time when you crawl between the sheets and wave a medication-induced hazy (okay, maybe that’s just me) goodbye to the day. This is followed by a delightful several hours of oblivion to all the world’s ills.

Then, the next morning, the guinea pigs start wheeking (okay, maybe that’s just me again), and it’s time to start the cycle all over again.

I live for bedtime. I breathe for bedtime. The daytime? That’s just filler. Filler filled with anticipation. Ah, bedtime…

1 Minute Reads

Short posts 100–400 words to inspire, uplift, and encourage others. Contribute as much as you like. I aim to publish within 24 hours. Thanks for your interest and welcome on board.

Ashley Peterson

Written by

Nurse, mental health blogger, living with depression. Author of two books. Using words to heal and fight stigma. https://mentalhealthathome.org

1 Minute Reads

Short posts 100–400 words to inspire, uplift, and encourage others. Contribute as much as you like. I aim to publish within 24 hours. Thanks for your interest and welcome on board.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade