“You’re going to bed?” Dave said, moments after I stood and announced a general goodnight to the room. “Before your daughter?” he added, incredulously.
Yes. Before my daughter. She’s a maniac—wakes up before me and, if allowed, would go to sleep after me. Plus, my eyes are still watery, my body is fully in vacation mode, and I told my readers I’d carve out more space for writing tonight—something that, at 8:33 p.m., I had yet to do.
And although A Christmas Story was somehow more entertaining than it’s been in all previous years, I bid my family adieu.
To go downstairs, tuck myself out of sight, and let the evening dissolve into quiet, unproductive scrolling—just long enough to convince myself I tried.
Going On 40 