The alarm goes off at 5:45, and J. gets up. It still seems strange that I don’t have to drag myself out, doing my morning yoga while he uses the bathroom. Instead, I roll over and doze off. Later, he comes back to brush teeth and put on his tie. A kiss good-by and he’s gone. I have my alarm set for 7:20, although there is no reason I have to get up at that time. I just know that I shouldn’t get in the habit of hiding in bed.
Last night I read until after midnight. When I am in the middle of a good novel it’s like an addiction. I neglect people and work and health and just read, read, read. Often I will not allow myself to start a book when I have an important project or responsibility ahead of me. These days, reading in bed until I can’t keep my eyes open also means I’ll go to sleep immediately when I do turn off the light, instead of lying there with thoughts looping through the same useless paths. This morning I had hoped to sleep a bit longer, but once I was awake I turned on the light and went back to the book. An hour later, I jumped out of bed, feeling guilty for this escapist pleasure.
It doesn’t seem right to feel guilty about reading for an hour. If I were retired or on vacation, or even home sick, I would wallow in the luxury of it. Instead, I think about J., who doesn’t have this luxury, and about the various projects, chores, and activities that I could be doing that would be more “productive”. I will have to find a way to allow myself to enjoy these little pleasures that can take the edge off the sharp worries that float around me.