Yesterday I was feeling like death warmed over, and I told my wife to make sure I got to be early. (I have a habit of puttering when I’m tired or depressed). After dinner, I put away the leftovers, loaded the dishwasher, checked my emails, made suggestions to my son on his dirigible designs, then said “I’m going to bed now.”
My wife, who’d twice said we had to wrap thing things up early so I could go to sleep early, looked surprised. It wasn’t even 7:30 yet.
But I put Saturday clothes out in the living room and crawled into bed. Ten hours later, I was up. I changed, ate and hit the bus stop. And god, I feel so much better. Not well mind you; I have way too much sleep debt for that. But I honestly feel better. If only I could quit my day job, I’d be practically healthy.
Mirrored from Twenty Palaces. You can comment here or there.