Raspberry Iced M

It seemed like a good idea. Yesterday.

I made a decision at 9:12 p.m. A bold, responsible, almost admirable decision.

“I am going to bed at 10:00.”

I even said it out loud. To no one. Just the dog and the dishwasher.

I listed the benefits in my head: Emotional stability. Less jaw clenching. Fewer dramatic internal monologues before noon. Maybe even peace, ultimately.

I pictured Morning Me waking up gracefully at 6:00 a.m. No snoozing. No bargaining. Just light pouring through the curtains and a calm, hydrated woman stretching her arms like someone who has her life together.

Yep. Seemed like a good idea.

Yesterday.

9:47 p.m.

I brush my teeth early, which feels wildly efficient. I dim the lights, set out tomorrow’s clothes, adjust my ponytail. I feel smug.

10:02 p.m.

I am officially in bed.

This is where it all goes wrong.

Because now it is quiet.

And in the quiet, my brain clocks in for a second shift.

Did I respond to that email properly? Why did I phrase that text like that? What if that one comment from three years ago permanently altered someone’s perception of me? Should I Google the symptoms of burnout again?

I reach for my phone. Just to check one thing.

One.

Tiny.

Thing.

10:14 p.m.

I am watching a random mom on YouTube reorganize her pantry and somehow feel both inspired and inadequate.

10:27 p.m.

I am reading an article about sleep hygiene and do not miss the irony.

11:03 p.m.

Okay, now we’re really sleeping, and I put the phone down.

My eyes are closed but my brain doesn’t get the memo.

Since we’re here…let’s revisit every mistake you’ve ever made in chronological order.

And midnight arrives firmly, like a judge taking the bench.

Somewhere around 12:18 a.m., I finally fall asleep out of pure exhaustion.

Morning.

6:00 a.m. alarm.

The sound feels violent.

Morning Me is not glowing.

Morning Me is betrayed.

I hit snooze with conviction. 6:09. 6:18. 6:27.

By 7:03, I’m negotiating.

Sleep is important. You need rest. Maybe tonight you should go to bed early.

Which seemed like a good idea. Yesterday.

And every time I stay up late, I swear it is the last time. I swear I am done stealing tomorrow’s energy to soothe tonight’s restlessness.

But there is something just so seductive about late hours.

No one needs me. No one is emailing. There are no deadlines ticking. And the world is quiet enough that I don’t have to perform competence.

Staying up feels like reclaiming time.

But it costs me clarity.

By 10:30 a.m., I am tired and dramatic and slightly fragile in ways that sleep last night would’ve softened.

And yet, tonight at 9:12 p.m., I will say it again.

I am going to bed at 10:00.

And I mean it.

I always mean it.

Because I am not nonchalant about change. I am hopeful…in short bursts.

And that hope extends to counting for something.