I'm sitting in bed, next to my sleeping husband, at 9:17 on a Thursday night. I got in bed at 7:00 before he got home from work. I've pondered why my urge to get in bed at a ridiculously early hour overwhelms me night after night. Is it because we have a television the size of a movie theater screen in our bedroom, while the tv in the living room is circa 1982? But I don't watch television at night until my husband comes home (I dvr my shows and watch them in mammoth, marathon watching sessions when I'm being lazy on Saturday mornings). When he comes to bed he turns on Pawn Stars, How It's Made, Build It Bigger, The-Sergeant-Guy-From-That-Vietnam-Movie-Who-Now-Blows-Up-Watermelons-And-Yells-At-Us-To-Not-Change-The-Channel, or some other guy show, and promptly falls asleep--waking only when I surreptitiously take the remote off his chest and attempt to turn down the volume or change the channel--whereupon he will awaken, start tossing and turning and not be able to go back to sleep without me turning back to one of these "guy shows" blaring at ear-splitting levels.
Which, by the way, I will commence to watch until the very end. Because he's slept through the last 75% of the show, he'll choose the very same show to watch the next night. . .and the whole cycle begins again. I can't tell you how many times I've watched "the deepest mine in the world" being drilled and "how baseball gloves are made."
Anyway, as I was saying, I'm trying to figure out why my 46-year-old psyche prefers our dark and cluttered bedroom at a time when I should be running one last errand, emptying the dishwasher, or meeting friends for dinner. Am I bored? Am I depressed? Maybe. I just know that it's nice to get out of the area where I spend most of my day as a work-from-home employee.
Hopefully, that's all it is -- that's the only reason -- because I hate to think I'm bored or depressed with my life.
I have a great life with my husband, 4 dogs, daughter-who's-getting-married, and demented parents!
More on that later.
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