10:00 p.m on Queen Street
It’s when I start feeling agitated. I’m fighting with myself.
Wednesday night. My daughter just said her goodnight.
What now? More Netflix? Do I make a phone call? It’s one of those oddly warm winter nights, something that’s happening more and more in Toronto.
Agitation wins. Phone call. It’s 10:00 p.m on Queen street. I’ll sleep when I sleep. Streets look empty but the bars are full.
1:00 a.m. The move is back to my apartment. We’re loud but no one is sloppy. The drinks keep going. Conversations are going. The night dies on its own.
It’s 10:00 p.m on Queen street.
I’m thinking of how my daughter is dealing with the noise of a few people over. I’m wondering if I’m a bad parent. I’m wondering if I had a bit too much to drink. Not having a 9–5 can be dangerous.
Who know’s if she’s awake. Her door is closed so it’s anyone’s guess. I’m enjoying my night. I’m enjoying being young. I’m enjoying the company. My company is enjoying the company.
It’s already tomorrow. The consequences will be what they are. I’ve made my decision.
Simple decisions are never simple when you’re a parent.