I didn’t have a bedtime as a child (my mother didn’t believe in them) and yet now that I am “older” I do because if I don’t go to bed by a certain time I am unable to wake up in the morning and my day is completely shot.
Tomorrow is Tuesday, i.e., staff meeting at work, i.e., the day is already shot.
My eye is puffy for no reason and I am the only one who can see it. I may be allergic to my own hand.
I also may be imagining the puffiness.
Maybe I am making myself sick in an allergic reaction to my life.
A girl at dinner had her first book published at age 13.
No, she laughed, it was actually age 15.
Both make me equally depressed.
Maybe I will be inspired to write tomorrow. That is reason enough to make the effort to crawl into bed.