The Clock

The clock now reads 10:33pm. I'm winding down, preparing to go to bed. A week ago, when the clock said 9:33 at this same time, I wasn't even thinking about bed yet. The evening was still young! The clock proved it. It was only 9:33, and I never go to bed at 9:33.

But 10:33? Yes, sometimes I go to bed at 10:33.

Earlier this evening, at 7:05, Bradley seemed tired (and I'll be honest, he had worn me out, and I was (just a little) tired of him), so I started settling him down for the night. A week ago, at 6:05, I would not have dreamed of putting him to bed so early. Instead, I would have watched the clock, enduring an hour of grumpiness and mischief until it was "legal" to say night-night.

I am completely fascinated by this phenomenon of Western culture.

Granted, I am a very time-conscious person. But how is it really possible that I can look at the clock, and just because it says 9:33, I have energy, and just because it says 10:33, I feel tired?

Bradley easily went to bed tonight. If I had really tried to put him to bed just after 6:00 last week, would it have been so easy?

Something in my gut says no.

But something in my gut also says yes.