I hate bedtime -- always have, always will. I don't want to go to sleep. I don't want to shut down. I want to stay up and have some fun. I don't care if it's shaped like a hamburger or Gerald Ford, I don't want to go to bed.
I have pretty much the exact same emotional reaction to bedtime now as when I was eleven. Every night, my mom, stepdad and I would watch Channel 5 local news at 10 PM, all strangely beige sets and Arkansas-white faces chattering away about absolutely nothing. Then my stepdad would lumber out of his recliner and head to the shower, shirtless and scratching his bulbous belly, and I'd stay up with my mom for the nightly syndicated Seinfeld rerun, which for much of my pre-adolescent youth was the most exciting event of my day. Thrilling as Elaine and Jerry were, though, they'd be powerless to slow the pendulum's approach. Bedtime was waiting, and during the commercials I'd shoot glances at the clock in the kitchen inching towards 11 PM. And then the zany plot lines would resolve, the closing riff would sound (da da da DUH!) and there I'd be.
I was never one to beg or plead to stay up later or even to hide a damn flashlight under the covers, let alone sneak out a window,. Such things would be impossible to contemplate at that point in my development. Had I thought about it, I wouldn't have had any idea how I'd even begin to break a rule. This was my childhood M.O. -- dutifully resigned, fearful of disapproval from any and everyone, not wanting to put anyone out.
As for the present, well, now that I'm an Adult, I obviously can't stay up too late. I'd run the risk of being too tired in the morning to do my job. Efficiency might not be maximized. Someone might get upset or be disappointed. Bedtime is for the best.
Good night!
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