By approximately 3:00 every afternoon...
I'm exhausted.
Not "I could use a nap" exhausted.
I'm talking...
"If someone laid a mattress down in the middle of Target, I'd seriously consider it."
By dinner...
I'm dreaming about pajamas.
By 8:00...
I'm telling my husband,
"I'm so tired."
By 9:00...
I've mentally fluffed my pillow seventeen times.
By 10:00...
I finally have the chance to go to bed.
...
So naturally...
I stay up until midnight.
This makes absolutely no sense.
I know that.
You know that.
My husband definitely knows that.
Every night he asks,
"I thought you were tired?"
I was.
I still am.
That's not the issue.
The issue is...
I need...
Me Time.
Not productive time.
Not laundry time.
Not "let's finally answer those emails" time.
Absolutely not.
I need gloriously pointless time.
This is the magical hour where my brain demands absolutely nothing useful.
Reality television.
Mindless phone games.
Videos of dogs wearing rain boots.
Someone organizing a pantry I'll never have.
Kevin the squirrel folding glitter pants.
Whatever.
I don't care.
I have reached the part of the day where my brain wants...
Candy.
Not literal candy.
Although...
Maybe that too.
I'm talking about candy for my attention.
Tiny little dopamine snacks.
People sometimes ask,
"If you're so tired, why don't you just go to sleep?"
Friend...
Because sleeping ends today.
And today...
Finally belongs to me.
Think about it.
All day long I've been...
Making decisions.
Answering questions.
Working.
Writing.
Creating.
Remembering appointments.
Forgetting appointments.
Finding my phone.
Losing my phone.
Being responsible.
Being productive.
Being an adult.
It's exhausting.
Then...
Everyone goes to bed.
The house gets quiet.
Nobody needs anything.
No emails.
No phone calls.
No expectations.
It's just...
Me.
And somehow my brain says,
"We've been waiting for this."
So I sit there.
Watching television I will barely remember tomorrow.
Playing games that have absolutely no educational value whatsoever.
Scrolling through videos of baby goats wearing pajamas.
Living my best life.
Until...
I look at the clock.
12:17.
...
Well.
That escalated quickly.
The next morning...
I'm shocked.
Shocked, I tell you.
Why am I so tired?
Surely it couldn't have anything to do with the fact that I stayed awake watching someone pressure-wash a driveway for forty-three minutes.
No.
That seems unrelated.
Every single night I make a promise.
Tonight...
I'm going to bed early.
Tonight...
Will be different.
Narrator:
It would not, in fact, be different.
I've learned something about myself over the years.
I'm not procrastinating sleep because I don't value it.
I'm protecting the only part of the day that feels completely mine.
The quiet.
The freedom.
The permission to do absolutely nothing of value.
After spending all day trying to manage my brain...
I finally get to let it wander around barefoot for a while.
Now...
Am I saying this is a healthy habit?
Absolutely not.
Sleep is important.
I know that.
You know that.
My under-eye circles know that.
I'm simply saying...
I understand why I do it now.
And understanding yourself is often the first step toward changing.
Or...
At the very least...
Toward not feeling guilty every single night.
These days...
I'm trying to make peace with the fact that I deserve breaks before I'm completely depleted.
Maybe if I gave myself little pockets of joy during the day...
My brain wouldn't feel the need to steal them from tomorrow morning.
I'm not there yet.
But I'm working on it.
Until then...
If you happen to text me at 11:48 p.m. and ask what I'm doing...
There's an excellent chance I'm lying in bed...
Watching raccoons wash grapes...
Playing a game involving cartoon fish...
And telling myself...
"Just one more episode."
We all know how that story ends.
Probably around 12:47.
Which, now that I think about it...
Is an awfully uneven number.
Guess I'll have to stay up until 12:50.
My brain has standards.
