Night Owl
2.07 am on Saturday. Other people might be staggering home from the pub, or getting some action. I have just finished one book and I'm just about to put the light out when I see At Large and At Small: Confessions of a Literary Hedonist on my bedside table. It's a collection of essays on various topics. I think to myself that I'll just have a quick look at the contents page and see what kind of topics these might be.
I'm not going to read any more, it's too late. Time to go to sleep. Hubby is snoring gently beside me, and has been for hours.
One of the essays is titled 'Night Owl'. Hmm, interesting. I'll just have a look at the first page, to see what it's all about.
2.29am. I finish the essay on Night Owls, and begin planning this post. Hubby lets out an almighty trump in his sleep, and I nearly fall out of bed I get such a fright. The squirt of adrenaline wakes me up, and I think to myself: 'I may as well just read one more chapter'...
Labels: Books, reading, tales from the draft folder
Books are evil, sleep-sucking demons. If only they weren't so damn cute with it! (Welcome back, by the way!)
Haha, I can totally relate. :)
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