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…