Well, the good news is that I seem to be back into reading again.
For some reason, last year, I just sort of fell out of the habit of reading. I was falling asleep on the bus all the time, dropping my Kindle or my book and just not getting much read. And I wasn’t reading much at home either.
But as a New Year starts, so does a new Good Reads reading challenge. So this year I have popped down 100 books as a target. Nothing too unreachable there. One book every 3.6 days or whatever it is. A doddle.
I’ve cracked off two books already this year so I’m on target and thanks to an incredible bout of insomnia last night, am well on the way to completing the third. I know, right, younger me with the books in my bed so I could stay up all night would be furious, but there I was last night annoyed with the world in general for not letting me sleep (which then leads to not being able to sleep and so the cycle repeats) but ploughing through a book at a rate of knots.
But in a way that might just be loud enough to wake Carole from her slumber so that I could complain about being unable to sleep. Because I was just annoyed that I was lying there for the better part of five hours and, aside from Peppa, unable to share it with anyone.
I considered getting up, but then thought that if Carole woke up and wondered where I was I would be left feeling guilty that my vanishment had caused her some sort of waking distress. She probably wouldn’t have been bothered in the slightest, to be fair, but I thought it was better I stayed put and just rolled around and sighed a lot.
And it was a lot colder outside of the bed than inside.
But mainly it was the love and caring aspect.
When she did eventually wake up and I got to tell her I hadn’t been able to sleep I fell asleep more or less straight away. As though that had been the thing keeping me awake. The desire to tell her I couldn’t sleep.
If I’d realised that earlier, I’d have woken her up at 1am, told her and then just got on with the sleeping.
Still, I know for next time…