I lie on the bed with the lights dimmed already, with the temperature of the room set accordingly, and with the novel in my hand, ready to be lost into. In order to avoid any kind of disturbance I put my phone away, on the study table at the far corner (I don’t need it anyway plus it helps me wake up in the morning if it is far away). All set for the perfect ‘alone time’ I start reading the book.
A page or two goes by and then I have something in my mind; a topic on which I feel should write and share it with my fellow bloggers. So I lazily stand up, scribble on a post it and stick it on the wall to remember the next day. So there I slump again on the bed, cuddle against a cold sheets, soothing and yet again I loose myself amidst the fictional world.
This time not even a paragraph goes by when I remember something from the day and again, unwilling I get up, post-it on the wall and return, this time making it sure I would not get up before I complete ten pages.
And so I wait for the ten pages to be done, and hastily get up before I forget to jot it down, and there goes another post it on the wall. This is how my wall is always clustered with post-it for to do lists, for something to share with my blogger friends, and even something that I have to let other people know.
This goes on for a while, until I am tired enough to get up again, after which I unwillingly take my phone with me, so that I at least do not have to get up. After another couple of reminders set on my phone, finally I decide to doze off. It is after all 1:00 AM.
Of course my mind is unwilling to shut down and so I aid to my ear phones, leaving behind my comfy bed, one last time. Somehow amidst the dreams of the story going on in the novel, with the lyrics of the songs and with many other unfiltered thoughts in my mind I doze off, finally.
And that is how my mother finds me often, early in the morning, with music flowing through the earphones and yet scattered somewhere under the pillow, with my phone snoozed off and hidden somewhere between the sheets, and the novel that I would be reading tucked beside me. And every single morning she would wake me with same monotonous say, “Why do you have to sleep with all of these things? Why can’t you just keep them all away on the table?”
And every single time I would say, “I just need a bedside table, mom. It would solve all my lazy problems. You don’t know the struggle of waking up once you are tucked into bed, restfully.”
“Yeah, right! But why do you have to get up in the middle of the night anyway?