I can’t make myself go to bed. I worked on the hat for a while longer (but am too tired to get up and measure the damn thing), watched the BCS championship a little bit (but was too embarrassed by my Buckeyes to keep the sound on), read the next chapter of my Zoology book (but started falling asleep as I was compiling the glossary), and generally ignored the piled-up dishes. I am exhausted and could probably fall asleep in savasana on a messy carpet.
But here I am, putting off going to bed as if I’ll be missing something when I shut down for the night. Maybe I’m just waiting for the baby to wake up and cry so I can rationalize that I don’t have to do all the night-time stuff. Like putting out “The Offering” of the midnight snack for Colleen, when she wakes up and comes downstairs to spend the rest of the night on the couch. Like letting the dogs outside one last time, so they don’t end up using the basement floor as a public doggie restroom.
I wonder if I’m just putting it off because, simply, I miss my husband and don’t want to go to bed alone. Well, Tommy sleeps next to me, but you know what I mean. It’s been a long and stressful day without Mr. Beth, and maybe I need to develop my own kind of bedtime routine to help me start to recover from the day. “Collapsing” is probably not healthy enough.
I can hear Tommy now. Looks like I did it again. Now he can cry while I do the Offering and the dogs. Rats.